Caveat Emptor
by Melodrama
Summary: [AU] 1xR2xH6x9 Set in Ancient Rome, what does destiny hold for a slave, a Lady and Caesar himself?
1. Prologue

Caveat Emptor

Disclaimer – I do not own Gundam Wing. This fic is written purely for non-profit entertainment purposes. 

Prologue 

Relena walked through the throng of people, noticing the unabashed stares of the many who turned their heads to catch a glimpse of her. Perhaps it was merely because ladies of her station were not seen in this sector of the markets that her presence prompted such attention. Or perhaps it was due to the tall, silent guard that kept a constant vigil by her side. 

"It is your beauty," her companion said as if reading her thoughts. She smiled in return. Trowa rarely spoke, but when he did, it was only to lend a voice to truth. He was not like some of her acquaintances that idly paid such compliments. 

"My lady," the soldier's voice lowered as he continued. "I do not feel that it is wise for you to be seen amongst the slave vendors. The merchants here are not like those you would normally deal with."

"Trowa, I have nothing to fear. Not when I am escorted by one of Caesar's finest guards." She watched his jaw set as his eyes continued to rove over the crowd – no doubt searching for any signs of danger. She had not lied; he was one of the best, and often assigned to keep watch over her when she went out.

The dusty marketplace twisted into large knots of commerce, alive with a thousand different sounds. Merchants shouted their wares amidst numerous wooden carts, and vendors plied their trade. The young woman observed all, her expression mild and purposely appearing unaffected by the bustle of the crowd. Inside, however, sadness tore at the depth of her heart. All around her, human souls were being sold like chattel; human lives were being treated like they were dispensable. What had drawn her to this corner of the market at all? 

She stopped a moment, to gaze at an odd little man whose wares were obviously more suited to the Gladiator trainers. The slaves were all shackled together in a line, a motley bunch of warriors – dirty and barely clothed to show off their muscles. Various scars upon their bodies told of lives that had already seen too many battles. 

The little man, his hair long and grey and a beard that grew pointed on the end of his chin, leered at her and limped in her direction. 

"Ah, my Lady, perhaps I can interest you in something? A new addition for your… private collection perhaps?" 

Trowa moved in front of her, his hand on his blade. The old man gave an unsettling cackle. Allowing herself to be ushered away, she froze, as what she had thought was a mound of tattered rags stirred. 

On second glance, she realised that it was indeed not rags, but a man. He was crouched on the ground, and unlike the other slaves, was restrained not only with wrist and leg irons but also a thick iron collar around his throat , which was chained to a solid post. As she stepped closer, the man lifted his head and glared at her through his thick mane of dark brown hair. His dark blue eyes flashed dangerously at her, and he bared his teeth, not unlike the wild animal he was being treated like.

She gasped; the sense of sadness, and even some guilt, choking the air from her lungs. What could have happened to bring a man to this? His face was certainly not unattractive, but his bottom lip had been split and a large bruise ran down the left side of his face. On closer inspection, she saw that his hair was crusted with dried blood and the tattered shirt he wore did little to disguise the fresh lash marks across his back.

"Please," she whispered, as she crept towards him "I mean you no harm."

Extending her hand, she touched her fingers to his forehead, starting slightly as he flinched. Before she could do more, however, an arm grabbed her waist and she found herself being dragged backwards. 

"You would be wise to stay away from that one, My Lady," the little man cautioned. "He is quite mad. You would have no use for him. Quite a waste of your coins."

She frowned at him, as she glanced towards her escort. Folding her hands, she gave the merchant her most regal stare.

"Who are you to suggest what I have or have not use for?" Her tone was deceptively serene.

"Oh course, My Lady," the man simpered. "I would be honest and say that I would sell him to anyone if it meant I would see the back of him, but I could not live with myself if this wretch were to harm such a fine lady as yourself."

"Name your price. My welfare is none of your concern."

The man glanced nervously at Trowa, who appeared somewhat uneasy himself. 

"I could not possibly accept payment for him."

She frowned at him, her displeasure obvious. 

"I will not be denied. If you will not sell him to me here, then I ask you to bring him to my home and my brother will arrange payment."

"Your brother, My Lady?"

"Yes. You should not have any trouble remembering his name. Just go to the palace on the hill and ask for Caesar."

The old man visibly blanched, as he stuttered his acceptance. Turning back to her new acquisition, she touched her fingers against his shoulder. As she began to move away, she heard his words - soft, yet still menacing. 

"I will kill you."

******  
  



	2. Chapter I

**Caveat Emptor**

Chapter One

_The pungent, coppery stench of blood hung in the air and assaulted his senses. Burning fabric and flesh turned his stomach. It was not a smell that was unfamiliar to him, but he knew this time the images that surrounded him would haunt him forever. _

_They were dead. All of them. Slaughtered, ambushed, and betrayed. The occasional popping from dying embers, the soft creak of his armour, the clink of his sword in its scabbard, were the only sounds to be heard in the otherwise silent glade. As he stared at the scattered bodies that surrounded him, he felt a building rage unlike any he had ever felt before. _

_They were innocents. Women and children. They had no place in this scene of devastation. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the sight of a young mother, her bloodied body slouched over the infant she had tried to protect. The child's fingers were tangled in the woman's long, dark hair, seeming to cling desperately to her even in death. _

_He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing if only to block the hideous image, even for a moment. But the memory remained vivid and palpable in his mind's eye, taunting him, sickening him. He could feel the clench of his fists, the knuckles whitening with the force, and he pledged his own personal vow._

_He would have revenge. He would hunt down the bastard responsible. And he would have his revenge._

* * *

"Wake up maggot,"

Heero let out a grunt, as a well-placed foot sank into his stomach, winding him. He glared up at the large, heavily built man that towered above him, grinning down through blackened teeth. Refusing to be intimidated, he rose stiffly onto his haunches, before spitting insolently at the mans' feet.

"You arrogant little bastard," the man roared, his heavy fist cracking against Heero's jaw before he was able to avoid it. The impact knocked him back down. Quick to grab the filthy, tattered remains of the slaves' tunic, the man jerked him upright; his clenched hand raised to deliver another vicious blow.

"That's enough!"

The rough jab of a walking stick to the large mans' ribs emphasized the command. He dropped his quarry, not unlike a chastened hunting dog. The elderly trader pushed him out of the way, muttering incoherently under his breath. His twisted fingers knotted in Heero's dirty mop of hair, and he tugged roughly at it as he glared at the slow progression of blood that now trickled from a fresh cut below the young mans' eye.

"Idiot," he spat. "He's not sold yet! Do you think Caesar will part with his coins for damaged goods?"

The man scowled, crossing his arms across his chest. "Caesar will not part with anything for this rubbish. The trip will be a wasted one. The woman is sending us on a fool's errand."

The old man chuckled.

"I believe that Caesar would do anything that young woman bid of him. But then, I think any man would. Am I right, boy?"

He directed his question at the silent, morose figure that he still inspected closely. The dark promise in the deep blue eyes sent a shiver through the elderly trader's being. The man was an enigma. The trader almost cursed the day the Fates had brought the slave into his presence. He shook his head, trying to unsettle the feeling of apprehension.

"What do the Gods have planned for you, lad? I have the feeling that I shall hear of you again."

* * *

Milliardo frowned at the crisp parchment, unsure if he were angered or impressed by the audacity it represented. Rereading it once, and then again, he rolled it back up and began to tap the scroll against his open palm as he glared down at the messenger who waited for his reply.

"Go back to Your Queen, herald. Go back and tell her Caesar shall meet with her when Caesar feels inclined to meet with her. And perhaps, in the meantime, she will remind herself of the correct etiquette required when addressing Caesar. I am beginning to gain the impression that her Late Father was lax in her education. Emphasize to Her, that if she continues to press her case, I shall not see her at all, and the protection of Rome shall be revoked."

His tone was firm as he instructed the trembling envoy. His cool manner induced more respect than any roar of anger could. He waved his hand and the little man almost fell in his haste to leave the great hall to return to his ruler. Watching the man depart, Milliardo bent his head at the sound of a low chuckle. Sighing, he turned to his elderly advisor.

"She is, if nothing else Pagan, persistent."

The white-haired man nodded, his keen eyes glinting beneath his heavy brow. "Egypt's fledgling Queen is obviously keen to gain your approval, Caesar. She is all too aware of the advantage of having your patronage. It would serve to gain favour in the eyes of her people and respect from neighbouring territories. It is not unreasonable to consider Alexandria a weakened city, until the Queen establishes her ascendancy."

Milliardo nodded, and tried to envisage the mysterious woman who had taken it upon herself to petition him relentlessly for an introduction. He remembered, vaguely, a plain and skinny child that he had played with at the age of ten, when the King of Egypt had met with his father some years ago. His imagination conjured up an almost masculine, dominant female of little appeal. Shuddering, he made a mental note to delay their meeting for as long as possible.

A servant appeared at the door, bowing apologetically. Milliardo waved his hand, summoning him over.

"My apologies Sire, but a merchant has arrived at the Palace, and is requesting your attention. He says he comes at the bidding of the Lady Relena."

Milliardo raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Pagan, his curiosity piqued. He nodded and sent the servant on his way. Obviously his younger sister had found something in the market to her liking. He wondered briefly why she had not simply paid for it with the coins he had given her. He smiled to himself. It was good to have her home again. The palace had been far too quiet without her.

The gentle grin froze on his lips, at the appearance of a small rabble. A short weasel of a man led them, aided by a knobbed staff, gripped with a buckled claw of a hand. His long, grey hair fell in greasy clumps and his beard stuck out from his chin to an almost lethal point. Behind him followed a large and brutish example of a man, the expression on his face alone suggesting a depleted intelligence. He held the ends of a heavy chain in his large hands, a chain that dragged behind them a pitiful excuse for human chattel. The battered form stumbled to a halt as the trader and his assistant stopped to bow low to the Emperor.

"I thank you Sire, for granting us an audience." The old man's voice matched his oily complexion.

Milliardo nodded, glancing at the man, and the slave behind him.

"Yes, yes. Enough. I have little time for nuisances, old man. I suggest that you make your point with some haste. What do you want?"

The trader stuttered, his head bobbing his assent nervously as he indicated towards the bound man behind him.

"A most respectable young Lady inspected my wares only this morning, Sire, and made an offer on this slave. The Lady asked that we present ourselves to you, and request that Sire complete the transaction. She claimed that she was the sister of Caesar, and that you would grant us assistance."

Milliardo glared at the man. Was he lying? Why would Relena have been in the Slave markets? As unlikely as the story seemed, he knew his sister well enough to know that it did hold some credibility. He glanced back at the slave, wondering what could have possessed her to make such an offer. The man stared ahead, not seeming to focus on anything, there in body but perhaps not in mind. He stood with his feet planted firmly, his stance arrogant and obstinate, despite the heavy manacles that revealed his enslavement. His eyes glittered with hostility, an unyielding spirit still clear in spite of the punishment his body had obviously endured. Milliardo frowned, grimacing at the man's bruised, bloody body and the filthy rags that covered him.

Casting his eye around the hall, he noticed that the guard he had sent to accompany his sister on her visit to the markets now stood patiently in one of the doorways. It amused Milliardo that the soldier had waited so long, ready to defend her, even to her own brother.

"What was she doing in the Slave Markets, Captain?"

Trowa bowed low to him as he stepped forward.

"I have no idea why she wanted to go there Sire; only that she was most determined. I advised My Lady against it most strongly, but she would have none of it."

Milliardo nodded. Yes, he was most familiar with his sister's will. He had faced it more times than he could recall. If women were permitted to hold any true power in their society, she would have been in the Senate, perhaps held the very title of Emperor. She made him proud. She also made him crazy.

"With respect, Sire, I do not think she had started out with the intention of purchasing. It was merely curiosity. And then it was a kind heart that lead her to make an offer to the Trader, nothing more."

Milliardo let out a martyred sigh, waving Trowa aside as he glared at the old man still waiting impatiently.

"I have very little time for such trivial meetings, especially over such poor quality merchandise. Request or not, I am amazed that you should dare to bring such wretchedness before me. I cannot think of a reason why I should not send both you and your wares to satisfy the appetites of the beasts in the Arena."

The trader visibly paled, his hand tightening impulsively on his walking cane. Milliardo swallowed back the urge to laugh at the man's cowardice. He turned to a servant that hovered nearby, his manner cool but his words terse.

"Go summon my sister."

* * *

He was tired. His most recent beating, and the long walk from the markets to the Palace, had drained his last vestige of resilience. Each ragged breath seethed through his clenched teeth, as he struggled to conceal the gradually increasing pain in his side. He blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy and his head spinning. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wincing when his tunic pulled against the crusted wounds on his back. His skin burned, the puckered lesions angry with infection.

The heavy scowl that he directed towards the front of the room was more from habit now, rather than inclination. He was finding it hard to comprehend exactly what was taking place between the Trader that owned him, and his customer. Apathy washed over him, and he allowed his thoughts to drift beyond the stone walls, his heavy iron manacles, and the increasing numbness of his body.

He thought of open space, clean air, and peace. His heart yearned for release from this captivity. For freedom.

* * *

Relena walked briskly towards the Great Hall, the soft clicking of her shoes muted against the cool pavers of the long corridor. She smiled graciously at a passing senator, hoping her current state of agitation was not too obvious. Her hands plucked at her skirt, and she chewed her lip while silently cursed her misfortune. She had hoped to speak to her brother before the trader arrived, but she had underestimated the old man's eagerness to complete the exchange. She grimaced as she anticipated the hasty convincing that would now take place. She fervently hoped that none of the senate still remained in her brother's company.

Any hope that she had succeeded in entering the hall without Milliardo's knowledge was promptly shattered as she was met by a rather cool and unamused tenor.

"Ah, my dear sister, there you are. Perhaps you would like to come over here and tell me exactly WHAT you have been doing?"

Fixing a serene smile on her face, Relena moved towards Milliardo's throne, purposefully ignoring the motley gathering before him. She sat gracefully on the stool beside him, momentarily forgetting her resolve, and glancing towards the Trader and his 'wares'. Her gaze fell on the battered form of the man that had captured her fascination and blanched.

Relena turned innocent blue eyes up to Milliardo.

"I went shopping."

Her brother stared her, his eyebrow raised and expression thoroughly unimpressed. She blinked back at him, her careful mask of honesty threatening to slip. She decided against smiling at him. It would perhaps be pressing her luck a little too far.

"So it has become apparent. I am, however, at a loss for exactly what you were doing in the slave markets. And on foot!"

Relena cringed at the slight rise in Milliardo's voice. Time for a quick change to plan B. Swallowing her pride, her disposition swiftly changed to that of the pleading, hopeful younger sister.

"Please Milliardo. It isn't so much to ask, surely?" She pouted, her eyes betraying her disappointment. "You did promise me a welcome home present."

She overcame the urge to gag at her own pretended sincerity, and managed to glance up at him through lowered lashes, hoping to feign timidness. He was, of course, her brother, so perhaps such actions would prove futile. But he was also male, and therefore bore an insatiable ego. It was a method that she knew other women swore by.

"I was thinking more of jewellery or clothing, Relena. Something a little more practical than THAT."

Milliardo gestured disdainfully at the slave and Relena winced, embarrassed by her brother's lack of compassion. Glancing towards the object of his ridicule, her heart dropped as her eyes met his; disheartened by the empty stare she received in return. She noticed the cut under his eye, along with the fresh swelling down the left side of his face. He swayed, the movement almost imperceptible, and Relena hoped that her brother had not seen it.

"What is one more slave, Milliardo? He could work in the gardens. Help in the kitchens. Why, within a week, I doubt you would even recognise him." Relena grimaced before fixing her best, imploring gaze at her sibling. "Please, Milliardo."

He glared for a moment, letting out a sigh as he threw his hands up at her. Relena could not help a small smile as she realised she had won him over. Again.

"Very well then. You shall have your way, Sister. Though I fear, sometimes, you ask too much of me."

"But that is why I love you, Brother Dearest." She laughed and kissed him quickly on his cheek, knowing that his ill humour was no more than bluster.

"Pagan," Milliardo gestured to his advisor. "See that the man receives his payment. But make sure he does not try to insult your intelligence with some over inflated price. He shall receive exactly what he deserves."

Pagan nodded sagely at his Emperor, before sending Relena a most sly wink. She smiled softly in return, and then rose to reinspect her purchase.

* * *

Heero had been watching the exchange between the old man and the Roman leader with a sense of separation, the incessant throbbing at his temples making it difficult to focus. He knew that the trader was anxious to complete the sale, but Caesar seemed firmly disinterested. Sighing inwardly, he thought with some foreboding of the walk back to the market that lay ahead. The old man would be far from happy. The concept alone drained what little strength he had left.

He had long since passed the point of awareness when the golden haired vision floated into the room. His head pounded, his eyes blurring with pain and fatigue. Squinting, he was unable to determine if she were there, or merely a figment of his fevered imagination. She perched beside the Emperor's right arm, speaking so softly that he could not hear her words. At one point, she looked at him, her eyes piercing through his delirium and creating a sensation he could not decipher. She glanced away again, and he glared at the floor, confused.

Suddenly, he realised that the trader was bowing low, a satisfied tenor in his gravely voice. The large ox of a man that held his chains leaned toward Heero, the stale stench of his breath adding to the waves of nausea that were already washing over him.

"The Gods are smiling on you today, maggot. See to it that they don't send you back, or I'll give you a beating that you will never forget."

The man had thought to make the threat a veiled one, unnoticed by those in the room, but it was not to be. There was the soft swish of cloth and the determined click of a heel, and the buffoon started sharply at the even, yet hard voice behind him.

"Leave him alone. He is no longer your concern, and I would appreciate you not touching my property."

She turned, her features softening as she lifted delicate fingers to touch Heero's face. His eyes flickered at her caress, and for a moment the pain and nausea were all but forgotten. He shifted his weight, swaying with the effort.

"It's alright, you're safe now."

Her soft words echoed in his head, having no genuine opportunity to sink in before his thoughts turned to darkness and he felt himself falling to the floor.


	3. Chapter II

**Caveat Emptor**

Nope… still don't own it

**Chapter Two**

His body was heavy in her arms, and Relena stumbled backward onto the hard, stone floor. She winced, the sharp grit on the floor pressing into her exposed calves and ankles with the weight of his legs on hers. Glancing frantically across the hall to her friend, Relena implored him for his assistance.

"Trowa, help him!"

She knew he was still breathing; his uneven rasp was hot against her shoulder. Her hand shook as she brushed her fingers through his tangled and dirty hair, so engrossed in the action that she started when she felt Trowa lift him away from her. He stared down at her with concern, but she paid him no heed, ignoring the crusted blood that had come away on her hands and the smeared blood that the injured slave had left on her clothes.

"You can't seriously expect me to pay for that, Relena!" Milliardo's voice was irritated, unimpressed that the slave had collapsed before the Trader had even left the room. He shot a scathing look at the old man, his disgust unveiled. "Get that thing out of my sight!"

Relena gasped, crouching over the slaves' unconscious form, using her body to shield him from the oaf that now moved to take him from her. She glanced up at Trowa's seemingly impassive face, then across to her brother.

"Please, Milliardo, you can't. He'll die."

Milliardo frowned at her, displeased that his sister continued to argue with him. His ire increased as he watched Trowa step between the large man and Relena, his eyes flashing with malice while his hand rested on the hilt of his sword, daring the man to try and take the slave from her.

"Fine," he snapped, turning his annoyance on the soldier, "But get it out of here… NOW! And I don't want to hear mention of it again."

Relena gave Trowa an apologetic glance, wincing as her brother stormed past her, and out of the hall. The Trader's minion fell back at his Master's command, following as the old man beat a hasty retreat, leaving the air in the hall thick with tension.

"Please, My Lady, what would you have me do? What are your orders? It may not be wise to linger here much longer, else His Highness returns."

Glancing at the Captain's gentle expression, Relena nodded quickly. "Oh course, we cannot stay here…" She thought frantically, watching the uneven rise and fall of the unconscious man's chest with some distress. Mentally shaking herself, she struggled to meet Trowa's gaze with a confidence she did not feel.

"Let me take him, My Lady. I know of a nurse that can take care of him. He will be in good hands, I promise. He simply needs his wounds tended, and rest. You would honour me to let me help you."

Relena stared, grateful for the kindness of her friend, yet surprised that a soldier of his rank would lower himself to such a task of seeing to the care of a slave. She smiled softly, nodding her ascent to his request and watching quietly as Trowa gestured for the man to be lifted carefully and borne from the room. Turning to leave, he paused a moment, bowing to his Lady, waiting to be dismissed.

"Perhaps it would be better if you wait 'til the evening to see how he is progressing, Lady Relena. I shall send word of where he is, and if there is any great change in his condition."

Relena nodded again, seemingly unable to vocalise the many questions and thoughts that raced through her mind. Instead, she sat immobile on the cold marble floor, long after Trowa had left the hall, the coarse texture of the slave's hair still vivid in her memory. Her skin tingled in recollection, and she wondered briefly what it could mean.

* * *

Relena waited impatiently for night to fall, sure that the sun took far longer than normal to make its final pass across the sky. The sunset had glowed a vivid red, almost bloody in its hue, before dipping below the hills to the West. Relena hoped that it was not to be a message from the Gods. He would be alive. Trowa had promised her.

Once darkness had settled, a young slave, assigned to serving her, draped a heavy cloak over Relena's shoulders. She stepped back to watch while her Lady pulled up the hood and tucked her blond hair out of sight. Relena smiled at her, and the maiden smiled back. The smile was small, uncertain, but there was an honesty in the dark blue eyes that was endearing. The dark-haired girl had not been at the Palace for long, and the soft burr in her voice the few times she had spoken betrayed her Celtic origins. There was a sorrow in her countenance that intrigued Relena, and she hoped to get to know her better. Nodding briskly, she resolved to be friendlier with the other woman. But for now, her thoughts were occupied with more pressing matters.

She moved quickly through the lamp lit corridors, relieved that she met no one in her travels. Her heart beat an irregular tempo in her chest, and she was unsure why the fate of the stranger was so important to her. His deep eyes had burned themselves into her memory, and his dark promise captivated her. Some deeper instinct cautioned her that there was more to this man than merely chains and servitude. His very countenance reeked of a world so different from her own life of privilege.

Soon, Relena's footsteps had carried her to the lower caverns of the palace, and following Trowa's directions, she found herself at the doorway of a barred cell. The heavy metal gate stood open, and Relena stepped cautiously into the small, Spartan room. She stopped quickly in her tracks at the sight of a woman, perhaps only a few years older than herself, stooped over the slaves' prone form. Her dark red hair caught the candle light, adding a splash of colour to the otherwise bland and nondescript room.

Her forehead was etched with a frown, and she tutted softly to herself while she cleaned assorted lacerations on the man's right arm. She moved suddenly, in reflex, as he struck out blindly with his left arm, which was jerked back with equal force as it reached the end of its slack. The heavy chain, bound firmly to his wrist, rattled back against the wall loudly.

"Really!" the woman muttered, "That's hardly the way to show gratitude. I have a good mind to…"

Her voice trailed off, as she became aware that she was being watched. Glancing towards the door, her eyes widened momentarily before she regained composure. Stumbling to her feet, she bowed formally.

"My Lady! Forgive me, I was preoccupied and did not hear you."

Relena waved her apology away graciously, stepping closer to observe the patient.

"How is he? Is he awake?"

Trowa's even voice rose from the doorway, appearing suddenly as if he had materialized from thin air. "No, My Lady. The fever has him quite firmly in its' grasp."

Relena frowned in confusion, "But only a moment ago, I saw him move…"

"He fights demons in his dreams, My Lady," the red-haired woman interrupted, flushing suddenly as she realised her boldness. Trowa smiled faintly at her, reassuring her, before turning to Relena.

"This is my sister, Catherine. She is the nurse that I mentioned to you earlier, My Lady."

Relena smiled gratefully at the pretty woman, her attention quickly returning to their patient. "The… nightmares… That is why you have bound him to the wall?"

"Yes, My Lady," Trowa replied. "He is a danger to himself and all around him in his present state."

As though in response to the soldier, the man growled low in his throat, his words unclear yet still menacing. Catherine moved towards him again, pressing a damp cloth against his fevered brow. His skin glistened with sweat, and Relena was sure that it must burn to the touch. She watched in silence as Trowa lifted the other man into a sitting position, holding him still while Catherine wrapped fresh linen bandages around his chest and covering the freshly cleaned and treated lacerations. She could not help but wince at the sight of them, still painful looking despite the nurse's remedies. It saddened her to think that another human could have inflicted such wounds.

"Is there something I can do to help," she asked softly, wishing to do more than stand by idle. Catherine glanced at her, before shooting Trowa a questioning look. He simply nodded in reply, and the woman turned to hand Relena the damp cloth.

"Bathing his skin with the cool water will help to bring him comfort, my Lady." Catherine said softly. Relena smiled gratefully, crouching down to do as instructed. The nurse stepped back, watching her for a few moments, and Relena could only guess at what the other woman could be thinking.

* * *

As the night wore on, his breathing seemed to become more even, and the evils of his dreams abate. Relena continued to tend him, refusing Trowa's suggestion that she should return to her chambers and rest. In the waning hours of the evening, Catherine was called away to assist with the birthing of a child, leaving Trowa and Relena alone to watch their patient.

Deep in thought, Relena started at the sound of Trowa's unexpected question.

"Why are you doing this, Lady Relena?" He paused a moment, taking in her puzzled expression. "Your intentions are most admirable, but he is only a slave. Why do you risk the wrath of your brother, and exhaust yourself now, for a mere slave?"

The Captain's question bore no censure or animosity, his tone matter-of-fact, but Relena could not help but stare darkly back at him.

"Merely a slave?" she snapped, "He is a human being! How can you speak in such an offhand manner of your fellow man?"

Flushed with anger, Relena turned away from him, unthinkingly reaching across to stroke the sleeping man's brow. She struggled to control her temper, realising with a sinking heart that the soldier's words did not reflect his own beliefs but rather those he believed held by the aristocracy. And he was not incorrect. The privileged society of Rome thought little of the plight of the poor. But she refused to blind herself in the same manner as her friends and associates.

"I would have bought every one of them if I thought I could diminish their troubles. But I am not a fool, Trowa, nor am I naïve. I could not help them all, but I could at least help one. And trying my Brother's patience is a small price to pay. He will recover from the slight, I assure you."

Trowa nodded slowly, his expression betraying doubt and scepticism. "But why this one, My Lady?"

Relena motioned towards the top of the man's arm, pointing out the lacerated skin, "These scars on his arm… you can still make out the lines of a tattoo. Numbers, Captain. Similar to the ones you should have on your own arm. He wears the mark of the Roman army, and someone has tried to remove or at least deface it. Surely you must see that he is one of your own!"

Trowa frowned, refusing to glance towards the wounds that Relena gestured towards. "It is most likely that he tried to remove the numbers himself, My Lady," He replied grimly, "It's more likely he's a deserter, and he has tried to disguise the identity of his Legion. You have likely rewarded his cowardice with misdirected kindness."

Relena shook her head fervently, frustrated that the man refused to acknowledge that she was correct in her assumptions. Sighing, she forced herself to remain calm and appear unaffected. "Trowa, it would be easy and perhaps not unjustified, to assume that I have grown up sheltered from the harshness of the World… that I am unaware of what goes on beyond the Palace walls. But I hope you would grace me with a little more credit than that. Rome is not the shining beacon that we wish it to be. She has her flaws and her imperfections. Caesar cannot cure her ills on his own, and neither can his army. We cannot fight forever. What will become of us when the warring is over? Where will it leave us? Perhaps there is more place than you know for my misdirected kindness."

Trowa frowned at her, surprised by the vehemence of her words. Glancing at the still form of the man who continued to sleep deeply, he wondered, not for the first time, exactly what it was that was about the intriguing sister of Caesar that troubled his conscience.

* * *

Trowa glanced towards the small barred window, watching the thin rays of morning light that crept into the tiny cell. The Lady Relena dozed lightly, her head resting on her folded arms, propped on the edge of the narrow cot. He looked behind him, as the soft click of footsteps alerted him to his sister's return. Her face was drawn and weary, but he knew her well enough that she would not rest until her patient had regained consciousness.

Taking in the sleeping Relena, Catherine inquired softly if there had been any change. Trowa shook his head.

"He has been resting peacefully, but has not awakened. Did all go well with the birthing?"

Catherine nodded happily, leaning over the slave and poking critically at the puckered wounds on his arm. "You know him, don't you Trowa?"

Her brother declined to reply, avoiding her inquiring eyes as he moved towards the door. "I have to go for a little while, Catherine. There is someone I must see, but I won't be long."

And without a backwards glance, he was gone.

* * *

The Senator stood on the balcony, watching the crowds of people as they passed by in the streets below. His eyes did not appear to be focused, but Trowa knew that nothing went unnoticed to the politician. A hot gust of wind ruffled his fair bangs, lifting them away from his smooth forehead and revealing the frown that marred the boyish features. The Captain stood watching him in the shadows, waiting to be acknowledged.

"I hear that Caesar's sister is causing a stir again, Captain."

Trowa gave a small smile, despite himself. He straightened to salute the Senator formally, as he turned away from the railing and moved back into the room. Senator Winner waved a hand dismissively at him, and indicated to him to take a seat.

"The Lady Relena took it upon herself to purchase a slave from the markets, much to her brothers' distaste. The man is somewhat worse for wear… but we are sure he will gradually respond to our care…"

Quatre raised an eyebrow at him, interrupting the soldier mid sentence. "_Our _care? Since when does a Captain of Caesar's army trouble himself with the affairs of a slave? Surely your weakness for the Lady has not clouded your judgement?"

Trowa flushed, and he threw a dark scowl in Quatre's direction. "You are mistaken in your assumptions, Senator. My motivation is of an entirely different nature."

Quatre smiled softly at him, enjoying his associates' discomfort. "Then please, my friend, indulge me."

The Captain leant forward, his elbows resting against his knees, and he lowered his voice despite the absence of anyone else in the room.

"It's him, Quatre. We've found him."

* * *

A.N. Many thanks for the many kind and enthusiastic reviews and emails that I've received so far. I'm very happy to hear that people are enjoying reading as much as I am writing. A few notes, in response to some questions…

- The title of the story… Caveat Emptor… is of course Latin. It's actually a phrase I learned in legal studies when I was in college, and which has for some reason always stuck in my mind. It basically translates to, "Let the Buyer Beware." Only time will tell whether Relena should have paid some attention to that little piece of advice

- Ancient Rome has fascinated me for many years… and while there will be 'links' to Roman history in the storyline, I have not chosen a set time in history that the story takes place, nor will any references to any recorded chronicle determine how this story will be concluded. I simply hope to capture the feeling and mood of the age rather than any particular event. But then… you never know… LoL.

- Although Gladiator is one of my favourite movies, CE isn't based on the film. image of Heero in battle armour pops into head OO…. Sorry… what was I saying….?

So until next time…. Thanks for Reading!!


	4. Chapter III

**Caveat Emptor**

Who me? Own Gundam Wing? That would explain why I spend my days digging out horse boxes. Sheesh.

**Chapter Three**

His first conscious thought was that he was thirsty. His tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth, and his head throbbed with a dull ache. He tried to lift his hand to his face, wishing to brush away the heavy fog that lay across his eyes. But his limbs felt leaden, loath to move, almost as if they were tied down. He was obviously asleep, perhaps in some unknown plains between the living and the dead. What else could explain this almost forgotten feeling of security? He could sense no demons here, no hidden threat. It felt good to lower his defences.

But then, if he were asleep or even dead, why did he still feel the ache of bruised muscles? Slowly tilting his head, he peered through his heavy lids, his blurred vision making out the outline of a woman. That is, the face of a woman. She slept with her head cradled in her arms, her golden hair fanned across the blanket that covered the lower half of his body. It was so close, he could almost touch it. With a concerted effort, he walked his fingers closer, until he could brush them against the feather-soft strands. He turned his head, trying to get a clearer view of her, noticing her long eyelashes and somehow knowing that her eyes were blue. A clear and unique blue. He frowned, unsure why he was so certain of this. Thoughts and memories raced through his mind, confusing him.

His eyelids were heavy, and he struggled to remain alert. As if seeking to anchor himself to her existence, he curled his fingers in the wisps of hair and absently marvelled at how true they felt in his grasp as he slipped back to obliviousness.

* * *

Relena woke with a start, a feeling of displacement washing over her at the sight of the sleeping man before her. A fleeting moment of panic passed, as the events of the previous day flooded back. Straightening up quickly, she flushed with mortification that she had dozed off. Turning her head to see if Trowa was still there, Relena gave a yelp of pain. Her hair was snagged somehow, and the roots protested at the sharp tug they had received.

Investigating the source of the catch, Relena's heart skipped sharply. Her hair was wound tightly in his clenched fist, tucked between his fingers in an unyielding grasp. Glancing at his face, Relena saw he was now sleeping; his features peaceful and untroubled. Moving carefully, she uncurled his hand, nervous that she should wake him. Despite her apprehension, Relena found herself mesmerised by his large hand, fascinated by the contrast between it and her own small and slender one. Her fingertips brushed lightly across his palm, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb and stroking the thick calluses. She wondered if hours of yielding a sword were responsible for such strong hands.

"You look exhausted, My Lady."

Relena stumbled back, flushing guiltily at Catherine's soft whisper. The nurse gasped softly, raising her hands in reassurance, horrified that she had frightened the other woman. Relena smiled apologetically at her, straightening her robes self-consciously and glancing to make sure she had not woken Catherine's patient. She sighed with relief, seeing that she had not disturbed him, although there was the faintest scowl on his face, marring the otherwise tranquil complexion. Suddenly she felt unwelcome, out of place. As much as she wished him a quick recovery, it occurred to her that perhaps it would not be for the best if she were at his side when he regained consciousness. Slave or not, Relena suspected that his temperament would be a proud one.

"I should go." She murmured, glancing at the light sky outside the miniscule window. "Before I am missed."

Taking the other woman completely by surprise, Relena clasped Catherine's hands in her own, her expression earnest and sincere. "My thanks to you, Catherine. You have saved his life, I am sure of it. I could never thank you enough for your kindness."

Catherine nodded numbly in reply, her cheeks flushed at her Lady's praise. Relena gave her fingers one last squeeze before darting quickly out of the small cell. Walking briskly through down the corridor, Relena realised that she had left her cloak behind in her haste to return to her room. Chastising herself softly, she was taken completely by surprise when a hand reached out and pulled her suddenly into a small alcove.

Relena first impulse to scream was immediately muted when she found herself looking at the young handmaid who had assisted her the evening before. The young woman's face was the picture of contrition, and she bowed her head quickly and made her excuses.

"I am so sorry, My Lady, I meant no offence." She waited a moment for Relena to acknowledge her. At the nod of her mistress's head, she continued. "The Emperor is looking for you. He has news from the General, and wishes to speak with you. I beg your forgiveness, but I told him you were still resting and that I would wake you and send you straight to him."

The woman's voice was a little unsteady, no doubt nervous that she had lied to Caesar to cover Relena's absence. Nodding briskly, her own heart beating faster at the close call, Relena smoothed her robes and combed her fingers through her unfashioned locks self-consciously.

"Thank you…" she paused, embarrassed that she did not know the maids name.

"Hilde, My Lady, and it was nothing."

"Hilde," Relena repeated, smiling, "Well then, Hilde, I suppose we should hurry to see my brother."

* * *

The first thing Trowa noticed upon his return was that Relena had gone. This relieved him a little, as he doubted that Caesar would be even mildly impressed to hear that his treasured sister had passed the evening at the bedside of a slave. The Emperor was by no means an uncharitable man, but it was strangely evident that what he deemed acceptable for other ladies was certainly not acceptable for the Lady Relena.

While Relena was much respected, even loved, by the upper classes and even more so by the people of Rome, there was still whispered speculation as to why she remained unmarried at the age of 21. Most Ladies were at least promised in marriage by now, but her brother held her to him, deeming every prospective suitor unworthy. He kept her sheltered from much of the 'social' gatherings at the palace and some of the more spiteful members of the aristocracy had even hinted that there was more to the relationship than mere sibling affection.

This, of course, wasn't the case. Relena was in fact an innocent to such things, truly a rarity in their society, where it was not unusual for Ladies to keep a slave purely to satisfy their needs. Having grown under the strict tutelage of her father, and then her brother, Relena had spent very little time in the company of other Ladies. Instead she had travelled the Empire of Rome extensively and studied closely their history and political processes. Trowa doubted she could lower her mentality to exchange meaningless compliments and idle gossip with other women her age.

Leaning against the door frame, Trowa watched Catherine, as she applied fresh ointment to the wound on the man's arm. He felt a nagging sense of guilt at deceiving Relena. He knew the slave was no deserter, and he doubted that the tattoo had been subjected to self mutilation. He was concerned, however, that the soldier had not recognised him. He feared that it was not only his body that bore scars.

Catherine leaned across her patient's body working to readjust the loosened bandage around his chest. She tutted and clicked her tongue softly as she worked, her actions smooth and relaxed. Without warning, Trowa felt the prickling of hair at the back of his neck, and he stepped forward quickly, his hand moving impulsively to the sword at his side.

"Catherine, be careful!"

His sister gasped loudly, the sound muted suddenly as strong fingers placed pressure to the soft tissue of her throat. The man had struck with the speed of a viper, his action swift and without warning. He glared up at Catherine, his eyes hazy yet focused. Licking his lips slowly, his words came out in a growl; dark and menacing.

"Where am I?"

He yanked forcibly at the shackle around his wrist, his actions becoming more agitated when he realised his constraints. His fingers tightened their hold, and Catherine struggled for breath, her own fingers clawing at his arm for release. Her face became ashen and her wide eyes brimmed with shocked tears while she stared beseechingly at her assailant.

"Let her go!"

The impact of Trowa's fist to the slave's jaw was not enough to knock him out, but it stunned him long enough for Catherine to struggle free, tumbling to the floor in a gasping heap. Holding trembling hands to her bruised throat, she nodded stiffly to her brother's order to leave them alone. Stumbling back to her feet, she gave a last frightened glance at the man before tearing from the room.

"You have a stinking way to show your gratitude." Trowa ground out, glaring grimly at the other man. The returning stare was equally as grim, and the man looked warily at Trowa's sword and uniform. His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to recognise the tall soldier.

"You were in the market."

Trowa nodded. "What do you remember? Who are you? What is your name?"

The slave stared into space, his brow furrowed in concentration, puzzled. Trowa's heart sank. His instincts had been right. Sighing softly, he tried his last question again.

"What is your name?"

Blinking slowly, the man looked back at him. "I don't… know. The trader called me something… but I don't think it was my name."

Trowa nodded slowly. "Well, what did he call you? We have to call you something."

"Heero," the man replied, "He said my name was Heero."

* * *

The Queen cast her elegant clay goblet at the wall in a fit of temper, gaining no satisfaction as it exploded into a myriad of jagged pieces. How dare the man lecture HER about etiquette! Who did he think he was? Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the spoilt, arrogant boy she had encountered so many years ago. Obviously his manners had not changed. It was a shame she had shown such restraint in their games at the time, and avoided defeating him in an attempt to protect his precious pride. Men were such conceited creatures. Well, she refused to lower herself again to suit his self-esteem. It was time to throw decorum aside.

Pacing across the room, her stride agitated and incensed, she brushed her fingers across the heavy collar of jewellery at her throat. Turning quickly, she pointed at the quaking messenger, her numerous gold and silver bracelets jingling on her arm.

"You! Get me the Royal Carpenter."

* * *

The imposing stallion tugged impatiently at his bit, tossing his elegant chestnut head in ill-humour. General Treize Khushrenada smiled in amusement at the animal, who had never failed him in battle, yet who also held little esteem for parading through the crowded streets of Rome. Giving the horse's thick crest a good-natured slap, he spoke softly.

"Sa, Epyon, Sa. We're nearly home."

The horse crab-walked a few steps, unimpressed by his masters promise of a fresh stable and a feast of oats. Snorting loudly, he feigned alarm as a loud cheer rang out from the masses, congratulating Caesar's returning victors. Jibbing sharply, he bucked beneath his saddle, attempting unsuccessfully to shift his rider. The General simply laughed, taking pleasure in his favourite war horse's high spirits.

Treize sighed. It was good to be home again. This most recent campaign had lasted ten long months, and the Spanish rebels had taken longer to subdue than he had expected. There had been whispers, unsettling rumours, suggesting that traitors within Rome had been supporting the rebels, providing them with supplies that had allowed them to hold out against Caesar's Legions longer than otherwise expected. It did not bode well.

Having been suspicious of the rumours early in the battle, Caesar had ordered his best assassin and spy to investigate. Known only as Aquila, The Eagle, even Caesar himself did not know his true identity. His reputation preceded him, however, and the mere mention of his name struck the fear of the Gods into the enemy's hearts. But after regular messages from the soldier, indicating that he was learning a great deal indeed, he had disappeared. It had been three months since his last missive.

Ahead of them, the Emperor's palace rose into their view. The sight of it produced a moment of melancholy, taking Treize by surprise. Such a vision of architecture, the building usually invoked pride and awe in the General, but now for some reason he only felt empty. It had been a symbol of what he had gone to war for, what he fought for. Suddenly it was just a building.

Behind him marched Caesars army. Men of courage, who fought with valour and complete loyalty to Rome. Men who had family to go home to, to defend and provide for. Men who would die for the honour of their Emperor. But for each soldier that marched, there lay one on the bloody battlefield. And while it weighed more and more on Treize's conscious of late, it had also begun to trouble him that it did not weigh on Caesar's conscious enough.

As they drew closer, he could see the Emperor waiting to welcome his army home, flanked by the members of the Senate. Watching the man he had known since childhood, the man he called his friend, only one question continued to plague him.

When exactly had Caesar begun to lose sight of the dream that was Rome?


	5. Chapter IV

**Caveat Emptor**

**Chapter Four**

Relena sighed inwardly, wishing there was some way to avoid it. The banquet would go on for hours, making it impossible to help Catherine. Milliardo looked at her in surprise, no doubt confused that she would be so unenthusiastic to attend the celebration of General Treize's return. He frowned at her.

"I know it will be largely members of the Senate and ranking soldiers, Relena, but there will also be ladies your age. You _need_ to meet more women your age." He paused a moment, as if only at that moment taking in her appearance. "And make sure you are a little more suitably attired! You look like one of the servants! What possessed you to leave your chambers in such a state?"

Touching her loose, unadorned hair defensively, Relena glanced nervously at Hilde. "You made it sound so urgent that I see you. I didn't want to keep you waiting."

Her brother grunted and turned back to the scrolls before him in a manner that suggested the conversation was at an end. Relena hated it when he did that. Turning sharply on her heel, she marched out of the room, muttering mutinously to herself. Hilde hurried along behind her.

Reaching her chambers, Relena sat down. Hilde stood watching her for a moment, her expression bewildered.

"He makes it sound like I have no friends! Why must I go? I don't want to go!"

The hand maid's mouth dropped open for a moment before she regained her composure. Moving quietly, she began to comb her mistress's hair. The room was silent for a moment while Relena brooded. She jumped, however, at Hilde's unexpected reply.

"The day is still young, My Lady. You could go back and check on his health again before the feast."

Relena turned quickly to look at the other woman, surprised that she had seen immediately the cause of her vexation. Blinking a few times, she found herself completely without reply. Hilde smiled softly back at her, completely unapologetic in her boldness.

"And for what it is worth, My Lady… I would like to be your friend."

* * *

The ointment itched. While Heero did not doubt the use of the woman's remedy, the thought did little to reduce the overwhelming urge to rub his back against the course wall. Common sense did, however, over-rule, especially after he had tried to sit up and lean against it. The tattered wounds, though no longer infected, were by no means healed, and the nerve endings had protested clearly at any unwarranted contact.

So instead he tolerated the nagging irritation, as he knew he had managed to do with far greater ordeals in the past. At least he thought he had dealt with in the past. Heero shook his head, his mind a bewildering jumble of memories and thoughts. It was strange. He had an unerring sense of self, comfortable in his skin, knowing almost instinctively his own limitations. But mentally he was at a loss. He remembered nothing of his past, only knowing that he had been wandering in a daze, stripped of all his worldly possessions when the trader had found him. A part of him wished he could remember little of that experience either.

Warily, he tried again to sit up. His head swam, and his stomach pitched with nausea, but he made it upright. He raised a shaking hand to his head and winced when his fingers grazed a hard lump. His hair felt cleaner though. The woman had obviously washed the clotted blood away. He grimaced in memory of the way he had attacked her. The soldier, Trowa he had called himself, was right. It was a miserable way to show his gratitude. Although he wasn't even sure yet why he had been helped. Irritably, he rubbed the chaffed skin of his wrist, still bruised after Trowa had removed the heavy shackles.

For the hundredth time since he had awoken, a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes flashed into his thoughts. What did she want with him? He remembered glancing warily around the tiny room while Trowa had questioned him; sure he felt her presence nearby. But she was nowhere to be seen. The other man had noticed, and almost as though reading his thoughts, gave a most ominous warning.

_"She is not here. And if you make one move to harm her, I will cut your throat myself. Never forget your debt to her."_

Heero had glowered at the man's almost nonchalant declaration. He owed the woman nothing, and he resented the soldiers' threat. Who was he to give such orders? Heero sighed, staring into space. But then who was _he_ to take offence? Cursing his misfortune, he reached for a crust of the bread that Trowa had left behind. He tore at it brutally, taking his frustrations out on the inanimate lump of dough, attempting to ignore the hunger pangs that leapt to attention at the very promise of sustenance. Casting the loaf aside, he steeled himself with the pledge that he would consume nothing they tempted him with. He would be damned if he would bow to their control.

"There are many who could live another day on the nourishment of that food you so carelessly cast aside."

Heero stiffened, a shiver running the length of his body at the softly whispered words. He did not turn immediately, instead allowing the gentle timbre of her voice to sink untainted into his subconscious. Without looking upon her, he knew that it could be no other, this very certainty alone leaving him unsettled in a way he could not understand.

She gazed through the cell bars at him, her expression serene and unreadable. Thinking to unnerve her, he stood quickly and stomped forward. The effect was spoilt, however, as his body protested and he stumbled under another wave of nausea. Sinking to one knee, he waited with shame for the queasiness to pass. He heard her soft gasp, and looking up, he could see that she now crouched level with him.

For a moment, he was mesmerised by the soft blue of her eyes, drawn into their liquid depths. She blinked; the action almost seeming to happen at a decreased tempo, so that he could map out the path of her dark lashes. There was so much expression in those eyes. Kindness… and pity. Heero hardened himself with this realisation. He did not want her pity. Glaring at her, he clambered back to his feet, refusing to acknowledge the tremble in his limbs and the beads of sweat at his brow.

She straightened with him, one hand resting against the cell bars as the other swept the light shawl from her head, revealing herself completely. What little light that had found its' way into the Palace's dank underbelly, now settled on the golden highlights of her hair, casting an almost eerie halo about her. The soft strands of hair, their very texture haunting him still, were no longer unbound but rather styled in the tight curls that were such the height of fashion. She was clad in fine linen robes and intricate jewellery adorned her hair, ears, throat and fingers.

Heero's glare darkened even more, instinctively thinking to drive her away before she could bewitch him any further. Instead, her expression only became troubled… concerned for him, and Heero's stomach twisted with an indescribable ache. It confused him. Why would such a woman show compassion for some random slave? Nobility had no care for the poor and the weak. A wave of anger washed over him, certain that he was not and never had been one of the inferior classes. The soldier who had questioned him had seemed to know more than he was willing to reveal, and was obviously dutiful to this woman's wishes. Did the soldier know who he was? Or more importantly… did she?

"I am pleased to see you are much recovered."

It was a moment before he realised that she was speaking to him, his vision involuntarily drawn to the movement of her lips. At a loss for any reply, he grunted, the sound insolent and disrespectful. The woman merely shrugged it off, nonplussed by his attitude. Instead, she reached a hand through the bars, offering him a bundle of fruit wrapped in linen.

"I thought these might help you feel better."

No sooner had the words left her lips, when she found herself jerked forward, her shoulder jarring against the bars. The linen bundle burst open on impact with the floor, the fruit scattering. She gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise and she winced at the sting of his fingers biting into her wrist. He realised his mistake the moment he leaned in close to her, his face level with hers. Thinking to frighten her, instead his anger and frustration melted away once confronted by her calm expression. She was not afraid of him. How could she not be afraid of him?

She blinked slowly, serene and compassionate. She could not be real. He loosened his hold on her wrist, and let his thumb trace the bruised skin. With a mind of its' own, his other hand reached for her cheek, expecting to find her a strange figment of his imagination.

But nothing in his imagination had ever possessed such soft skin. He snatched his fingers back, ashamed at his lapse. Dropping her wrist, he sneered at her. She was confused, it was obvious, and she appeared about to say something when she was interrupted by what Heero assumed to be her handmaiden.

"My Lady, Your brother will be unhappy if you are any later for the banquet. We should go."

The Lady smiled at her assistant, gracing Heero with a last level gaze. He watched her turn elegantly, walking from his sight without looking back. Reaching down, he scooped up a ripe apple, rolling it in his fingers thoughtfully. She wanted something from him. He simply had no idea what it was.

And could he possibly deny her anything when the time came?

* * *

Treize watched the Senator. He was, by no means, a boy, although his blonde locks and flawless complexion made it easy to underestimate him. The fine lines that deepened when he smiled were very little indication of his maturity. But his eyes, those deep watery blue depths, held the key. They betrayed his shrewdness, his intelligence… his control.

In a Senate made up of bickering, withered old men, Quatre was an exception. Never had a man been raised to member of the senate at such a young age. Seeing his first battle at the age of sixteen, he had risen quickly through the ranks and his skill in the art of battle strategy quickly brought him to the attention of Caesar. Enticed with the offer of a high ranking in the Emperor's army, Quatre had declined. Instead he had asked to take his father's place in the Senate, still vacant since the elder Winner's suspicious death. His request was immediately granted, bringing about grumblings from amongst the other senators, many of whom were apprehensive of the younger man's intentions. Some even went so far as to warn Caesar that Quatre may be plotting against him. But Milliardo was undaunted, even amused at the idea.

After all, what did he have to fear from his own cousin?

Now, ten years later, Quatre had gained much support and respect from amongst the other politicians, earning the position of Chancellor to the People. Treize could not deny that he respected the man, even if perhaps it was a grudging respect. The Senator's passion for the welfare of Caesar's people was undeniable. He argued forcefully against taxes that the more grasping politicians believed essential, knowing that the coins taken from the needy merely served to line the pockets of the prosperous.

It was this unrelenting sense of righteousness that had earned Quatre more than his fair share of enemies too.

The General flinched, the movement almost imperceptible, as the subject of his musings turned and met his stare. Treize dipped his head once in response to Quatre's own nod, raising his goblet of wine in greeting. The other man merely blinked slowly, his expression sombre and enigmatic, before turning back to an older man who appeared intent on gaining Quatre's full attention. Senator Dermail. Treize wondered what the grasping old fool was campaigning for now.

"You seem distracted, My Lord. Do I not please you?"

Turning quickly towards the woman who sat at his feet with offerings from the feast, Treize took her hand and pressed it gently to his lips. "Of course you do my Lady."

Flushing with pleasure at the General's choice of title, the woman smiled back at him. Une was certainly no Lady. Like many of the other servant women in the hall, her purpose was merely to provide for the guests' every pleasure. And Treize knew from previous experience that Une was extremely good at her task. Almost vaguely, he ran his fingers through her long, brown hair, savouring the silky texture against his skin. Regaining his attention, she pressed a slice of fruit to his lips and let him taste its' sweet flesh. She gazed at him with clear admiration, her attention undivided.

There was a sudden quietening amongst the banquet guests, followed by hushed whispers at the arrival of the young Lady Relena. Treize followed her with his eyes, noticing the disgruntled expression on her brother's face. He was obviously unimpressed by her tardiness. However, she all but ignored Caesar's dark glare, and instead made a beeline for her favoured cousin, who welcomed her with open delight.

Une noticed Treize's line of vision, and her eyes narrowed a little with a hint of jealousy, perhaps misinterpreting the reason for the General's attention. The woman's sweet and gentle expression slipped, if only for the briefest moment, to be replaced by one that was cool and hard. Sighing inwardly, Treize could not help but question the motives of Gods who would create a woman that challenged, impressed and affected him but yet he could not have. He cared deeply for her, and knew that he possessed her heart. But she was a slave, a station she would never be able to raise above. No matter how much he wanted to tell her the emotions in his heart, he could not bring himself to encourage false hope for something he could never provide her. Wishing to distract her, he tilted her chin back towards him, his words hushed.

"What news from the Palace do you have for me, My Lady?"

He listened quietly as Une told him of various intrigues, both political and social. Treize was well aware that knowledge was power, and he encouraged her to tell him everything she had heard, no matter how trivial a piece of gossip it may seem. Her eyes and ears were keen, and her devotion to him made her eager to please. These merits alone made her an excellent spy.

So as not to bring attention to their conversation, Une continued to offer slices of fruit and grapes. She smiled seductively at him, so that the casual onlooker would assume her words to be mere flattery and charm. To be heard divulging Palace matters, even to the General, would be considered most treacherous indeed. But such risks were an element that Une thrived upon. Her final information amused him, and he chuckled softly at her words.

"…doesn't know that she spent the entire night at his bedside. He would have a fit if he did. Heaven forbid his precious sister should soil her skin with a lowly slave. It seems she defies him more and more each day."

Treize quirked an eyebrow at her and glanced back again to where Relena was seated.

"Is that so?" he murmured thoughtfully. "How very interesting. How very interesting indeed."

* * *

"Your Brother is quite right to be upset with you, cousin. You risk too much by wandering into such a place as the slave markets."

Relena pouted, feigning ill humour at Quatre's lecture. "But Trowa was with me. I was perfectly safe. Honestly Quatre, you're becoming quite boring in your old age."

His eyebrows shot up in mock horror at her taunting and he held a hand to his heart as though wounded. "Be not so quick to judge, My Lady. After all, it is only five short years until you too will be this old. Enjoy your youth while you can, for it is fleeting." He smiled softly, leaning back in his seat. "So tell me more of this intriguing purchase."

"I must admit, Quatre, he has me most captivated. There's something… I don't know… mysterious about him. Like he is not all that he appears." Relena paused a moment, sure that she had seen the briefest flicker of emotion in her cousins' expression. "He is no mere slave, I am sure of it. There's something dark… secretive about him."

Quatre nodded slowly, and Relena could not help but feel that he was troubled by something that he could not, or would not, share with her.

"And what do you plan to do with him? You cannot keep him locked away forever, and I highly doubt Milliardo would let you keep him in your chambers."

Blushing deeply at her cousins' innuendo, Relena stuttered in reply, "Of course not! There is plenty of work on the Palace grounds. Pagan will find some form of employment for him. That is, after all, what he was purchased for."

Gracing her with a most skeptical glance, Quatre's reply was interrupted by the arrival of Senator Dermail and a young woman. Relena looked at her with curiosity, thinking the blonde haired girl was most certainly familiar but sure that they had not been introduced. The Senator bowed officiously to them, before gesturing towards his companion.

"My Lady, may I introduce my Granddaughter, Dorothy, to you. The Emperor was most fervent that you should become acquainted."

The woman bowed elegantly to them, her sharp blue eyes flicking across to Quatre before settling on Relena. Perhaps she was mistaken, but Relena was sure she noticed her cousins' posture becoming stiff and withdrawn at the new arrival. Before she could wonder about it a moment longer, he stood and gently gave his apologies. Blinking with surprise, and disappointed that their conversation had been cut so short, Relena watched his retreating back and was left to ponder his sudden departure.

* * *

"So tell me, General, would you rather the thrill of the battle field or the subterfuge of the Palace?"

Treize looked up quickly, the briefest glimpse of surprise flashing across his face. Quatre smiled to himself, feeling a twinge of amusement at catching the other man off guard. Taking a seat, he watched as the General waved away the whore that was serving him, curious at the ill concealed disappointment on the woman's face.

"Subterfuge is a rather mild way of describing it, wouldn't you agree Senator? Somehow I think I much prefer the tact and diplomacy of the battlefield myself. Far less cut throat than the Senate."

Quatre smiled politely at Treize's words, ignoring the other man's attempt at a veiled insult. He was well aware that Treize felt him a coward for abandoning the battle field for the senate, and using his family name to bend modus operandi to suit himself. He was not troubled by this, though. The General was of a military lineage, it would never have occurred to him to follow any other course. The man was by rule flawless, so Quatre was unable to resist taking a dig at recent reports.

"I heard a rather disappointing whisper that you have mislaid a rather valuable piece of espionage equipment. Extremely careless wouldn't you think?"

Treize scowled at Quatre, his normally controlled mask slipping dramatically.

"Perhaps you should concentrate more on watching your own back, Senator, rather than concerning yourself with the affairs of his Highness's army."

Quatre smiled back, his lips set in a thin and grim line.

"Do not trouble me with idle threats, General. He may have disappeared, but perhaps you should be a little more disturbed by the prospect of what information was returned before his loss. And you should be concerned, my friend. For you should know, even better than I, that nothing went beyond Aquila's notice. Nothing."

Treize blanched, unable to recover his composure quickly enough to conceal his shock. Quatre stood slowly, his features set in an enigmatic smirk. Satisfied that he had done enough to unsettle his rival, he nodded briefly before moving away.

Yes, the Palace provided a great deal more intrigue and deception than the battle field. For while in battle you faced your demons, in the Senate you swam with sharks.

_

* * *

_

His blade sank deep, slicing effortlessly through the barbarians' inadequate armour. His opponent's life blood gushed warm on his hands, slickening his already stained sword. He ignored the man's final groan, too crazed by the thrill of the battle. Heero kicked him aside and moved on to his next rival.

_His heart beat an erratic tattoo in his chest, and every nerve in his body burned. Swinging his sword in a deadly arch, he felled another foe, not even pausing in his progression. Ahead of him, he saw a soldier cut down from his mount, the animal rearing over backwards from the weight of his rider. The horse hit the ground hard, the already dead soldier crushed beneath him. Scrambling to his feet, reins flapping, the stallion bolted past Heero, brushing against him. Fleetingly, his nostrils were filled with the smell of sweating horseflesh, the aroma dusty and familiar. For a moment his senses tuned out the screams and crash of battle, instead reminding him of racing a headstrong pony across sunburnt fields where nothing could catch them but the wind itself._

_His name was shouted clearly, only a moment before he found himself pitched to the ground. He looked up, just in time to see the lethal arc of his assailants axe. The large man's eyes were bloodshot with rage and spittle dripped from his lips onto his whiskers. Twisting beneath the man's weight, Heero struggled in vain to lift his sword to block the strike, but to no avail. He waited for that final blow, prepared to meet the gates of Elysium, unafraid to die. If the God's chose for his death now, then he was ready._

_The blow never came, instead the barbarian let out a great scream before slumping lifeless, the handle of a Roman blade protruding from between his shoulders. _

_"You should be more careful Brother. Where would you be without me to watch your back?"_

_Heero smiled grimly up at the other soldier, pulling himself free of the heavy bulk. Jumping quickly to his feet, he glanced around them, before turning a dark scowl on his ally. _

_"Where is Quatre? By the Gods, Trowa! I thought you were going to keep an eye on him!"_

_Trowa raised an unconcerned eyebrow, wrenching his sword free from the fresh corpse and shrugging towards a blonde headed soldier only yards away from them. His back to them, the man had locked swords in combat, obviously dominating his opponent._

_"I think he's handling himself very well for his first battle. At least he's keeping his mind on his enemy."_

_Heero scowled in response, turning his back on both Trowa and the conversation, instead hurling himself back in to combat, pressing the moment of vulnerability from his mind and again becoming engulfed in the exhilaration of the mêlée._


	6. Chapter V

**Caveat Emptor**

A.N - I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this out. I will not bore you with excessive excuses, instead, I'll just get to the point and allow you to judge if it was (hopefully) worth the wait. I must dedicate this chapter to Stefania and Darkwing, who are the best tour guides around. They deserve my eternal gratitude for taking the time to personally show me around the sights and historical areas of Rome. The Colosseum was simply breath taking. Thanks so much guys! Now I can actually say that I completed one of my chapters of CE in Italy.

**Chapter Five**

_He was standing on the edge of the courtyard, staring vacantly at the basket of firewood in his arms, completely detached. His expression was troubled; his brow creased with the intensity of his musings, and his confusion palpable. It was as though he had allowed his thoughts to wander, and could now not recall what he had been doing._

_Relena sighed. She was pleased to see that he had recovered physically so quickly. But she worried that he had been sent to work too soon._

_The head of housekeeping had complained that he was belligerent and uncooperative. That he looked down on the other servants and refused to assimilate. That while he was completing the tasks set for him, he had an air of indifference and scorn. Relena had listened quietly to the woman's concerns, nodding gently but refusing her request to have the man moved._

_"Please give him some more time. It has only been a week. He is confused and not a little angry I think. He just needs more time to find his place."_

_Privately, however, Relena could not shake the feeling that she was not helping him. It was like sending a fine war horse to plough fields. He simply had that presence about him. She wanted to help him. The need was becoming more and more insistent and she could not explain why._

_"Surely the day is too fair for such deep and gloomy thoughts?"_

_He had actually jumped, although the action was almost imperceptible, at the sound of her voice. Looking up quickly from the heavy basket of wood, his eyes narrowed when they met hers. He did not look away from her though, and her heart quickened. Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment she wished she had not disturbed him. He stood frozen for a moment longer, before bowing stiffly to her and turning to move away. She was disappointed that he was so quick to dismiss her, although she guessed that it wasn't really that surprising. After all…what did they have to talk about?_

_"Trowa tells me your name is Heero."_

_The basket tumbled to the ground with a clatter, and he turned back to her in one abrupt movement. For a moment his features were vulnerable, almost youthful, but his mask of resentment quickly slid back into place._

_"I don't know, My Lady. Is it? You seem to know more than I do."_

_It was the first time she had heard him speak, save for the mumbled threat in the market, and she found herself mesmerized by the deep gravel of his voice. His tone was gruff, but his words were formed with an educated tongue. Her suspicions plagued her further at this small observation. Who was he?_

_"Well," she continued softly, "I hope you will allow me to call you by that title. At least until you are a little more certain of your past." _

_Something sparked in his eyes at her words, and his dark glare softened considerably. Did he regret his harsh manner? He ducked his head, breaking eye contact, and his shoulders visibly sagged._

_"Why… Why are you doing this? Why didn't you just leave me there? What do you want? That Captain, Trowa, he looks at me like he expects something of me. Like he knows something but won't tell me. I don't want to know who I am. But I need to know."_

_Relena stared at him, distressed that she was incapable of answering any of his questions. It was true, she had noticed herself the way the normally silent soldier watched the slave. And she could not deny that her curiosity was increasing as to what interest the captain had in the mysterious man. He had been so quick to offer his assistance, and then stayed involved in Heero's care right up until his sister had deemed him fit to leave the cell. At first she had believed his responsibility to her safety to be the sole reason for his involvement. But she could no longer dismiss the doubts that had been growing in her heart for some days now._

_And Heero had noticed too._

_"Can you… can you remember nothing? Nothing at all?"_

_He glowered at her, fists clenched at his sides, and he appeared to struggle against a rage of emotions that sought to control him. His jaw was clenched tightly, the rhythmical tic of muscle in his cheek betraying any attempt at stoicism. Moments passed, making it obvious that he had no intention of answering her. _

_"I'm sorry, Heero, but I have no answers to offer you. I do not understand why you have come to be here, only that I wish to help you, in any way that I can. I hope that you will at least remember that."_

_He blinked at her, a myriad of unknown emotions flashing rapidly across his unguarded features. For a moment, she almost thought he meant to tell her something, to share something with her. But after the briefest pause, he simply turned sharply and strode away, leaving both Relena and the upturned basket in his wake…_

* * *

"Perhaps if you just slept with him, it would get this silly infatuation out of your system."

Relena flushed deeply, realising that Dorothy had caught her staring at the handsome slave who was clearing leaves away in the gardens outside. Swivelling back towards her guest, her action was so abrupt that her goblet of wine tipped in her hand and splashed a large crimson puddle on the marble floor. Hilde tutted softly and reached across to blot away the spill. The other woman gave a wicked chuckle.

"Well, at least you don't deny it, my Lady." She paused a moment, taking in Relena's dark blush, appearing almost surprised. "But you mustn't be ashamed, Lady Relena. We are, of course, creatures of passion. He is a slave, your slave, and it is quite within your right to use him as you best desire."

Relena stared at her, unable to mask her open astonishment.

"Surely you cannot mean… You wouldn't… You HAVEN'T…"

Now Dorothy really was amazed. Relena waited to be graced with the other woman's usual sarcastic tongue, but instead, her face only reflected pity.

"My Lady," Dorothy spoke slowly, almost as if she would a child, "This is the way of things. Perhaps you will be lucky, and your brother will choose you a husband to your… satisfaction. But I highly doubt it. So you will find that you will seek fulfilment from other sources. It is most common, and quite acceptable, I assure you."

"But… but … surely there must be some element of love, Dorothy. That is why we do it, isn't it? How would your future husband feel, knowing that you spend time with another?"

Dorothy laughed, the sound loud and unsettling. Hilde glanced quickly between the two women, a soft frown hinting that she did not perhaps agree entirely with the Lady's opinion. Dorothy seemed to take a moment to contain herself, before her features became smooth and sombre.

"Love and marriage are not at all related, Lady Relena. Neither is lust. You feel lust for your mysterious slave, but it is not love. And love has no place in an arranged marriage, which you can be assured, yours will be. Save love for your children."

Relena felt shaken by her blunt and bitter words. She could not believe that her new friend could truly feel this way.

"But, Dorothy, I am sure that when your turn comes, your Grandfather will choose a fine match."

Raising a sceptical eyebrow at her, Dorothy shook her head slowly.

"But didn't you know, my Lady? The choice has already been made. Very recently in fact. I am to marry Senator Winner. Your Cousin."

Relena gasped, shocked by the news. But why had Quatre not told her? Why had he kept such important news from her?

"It will be a strong union." Dorothy continued, shrugging her shoulders, "Love really has little to do with it."

Relena stared at her, saddened at her friends' indifference and sure that she caught an underlying wistful note in her voice. Glancing surreptitiously back across the courtyard, she wished there were someone who could help her to identify the tangle of emotions she now felt.

* * *

The sun felt good on his back, a pleasant change from the stifling heat of the kitchens. Most of the servants had been given leave to rest from the mid-afternoon heat, but he had been instructed to sweep the expansive courtyard, the head of housekeeping's apparent attempt at punishment. She didn't like him, and the feeling was mutual. He resented taking orders from the withered old bat, his subconscious informing him that he was above such mundane and pitiable tasks. He didn't mind this time however, it simply gave him an excuse to be away from the other palace staff, allowing him to try and sift through the confusing jumble of thoughts and recurring dreams.

The soldier, Trowa, had appeared in more than one, and in such a way that made him familiar… stirring a confusing fusion of emotions. And another… faceless but always with the same shock of blonde hair… in his dreams he could call him by name, but could not carry it with him when he awoke.

But now _she _had begun to find her way into his dreams, pressing aside scenes of death, and war. He could not deny that her presence had been a welcome relief, his former dreams leaving him with a morbid trepidation of what kind of man he had been to only dream of such misery. But the dreams also disheartened him, a subtle warning that he was developing feelings for the unattainable. Even if, when, he regained his memories, he doubted his former persona was in any way worthy of the sister of Caesar.

After their first conversation in the courtyard, or at least their first conversation that did not include him threatening her, Heero had tried to avoid their paths crossing again. But the Gods seemed to be working against him. And now he was growing more and more accustomed to her soft smiles and gentle voice. Each day they would pass each other, and she would enquire after his health, showing interest in his well being. He had been surprised at first, not expecting her kindness, particularly after he had slighted her.

But it soon became obvious that this was a curtesy she bestowed on each and everyone she spoke to, no matter what their station. The confusing thrill he got when he thought she had singled him out, soon faded when he realised this was not the case and he had felt his heart sink, despite himself. What disturbed him even more was the almost childish jealousy that plagued him whenever he saw her speaking to others, particularly men. He couldn't understand what was coming over him.

And then… last night… Heero shook his head with frustration, still mortified by what he had done. Brushing his arm across his sweating brow, he cursed softly at the memory of the previous evenings events.

_The moon gave her pale skin an almost ethereal glow, casting aside shadow and gloom. He had stood unnoticed, for some time, watching her as she watched the evening sky. He wondered what she was thinking, what could have roused her from her rest and brought her to this ledge so late at night. With her legs tucked beneath her and her long hair pulled back in a sleepers braid, she looked vulnerable and pure, startling Heero with an overwhelming desire to protect her. _

_"Rather than simply skulking in the shadows, Heero, you could always join me. I would be most grateful of the company."_

_Heero stumbled away from his position against the wall, surprised that she had been aware of him all along. She had not turned to acknowledge him when she had spoken, but her soft voice still carried clearly across the hushed alcove. He liked the way she said his name. It rolled off her tongue like an endearment, the sound caressing his senses._ _He still had no idea if the name was really even his, but hearing it from her lips, he doubted he could ever answer to another title. _

_Despite the nagging voice in the back of his head, warning him against it, he found himself stepping silently towards her and perching beside her on the marble outcropping. He knew he must have looked awkward, his back ramrod straight and his jaw clenched tight. But if she noticed, she made no mention of it, merely smiling gently. _

_"Are you normally up so late, Heero? I've noticed that you do more than your fair share of work, so you must be tired?"_

_Heero blinked at her with surprise, startled that she had noticed what he had been doing. The thought made his heart give an unsettling skip, and he swiftly forced back a wave of longing. Relena was simply demonstrating the conscientiousness that was in her nature. He was a fool to read too deeply into it. _

_"I couldn't sleep." His mouth was dry, and his voice sounded foreign to his ears. He didn't want to tell her the truth. That he had been awoken, as he was awoken every night, drenched with sweat and every nerve of his being screaming from the terror of his dreams. _

_She smiled enigmatically at him, so sedate and serene. Her features were smooth, betraying little, but her eyes emanated her sorrow. She fixed him with her gaze, and Heero found himself unable to look away. It was as though she was staring straight into his soul, and the sensation left him shaken._

_"No," she murmured, "I don't suppose you could." She sighed softly, turning back to the tapestry of stars. "The God's truly were magnanimous to grace us with such beauty, don't you agree Heero?"_

_He nodded dumbly in reply, although his gaze never left her upturned features. Magnanimous? Or malicious? Heero wondered briefly, not for the first time, what he had done to incur the God's torture. He felt hesitant, uncertain in her company. Part of him wanted to relax and savour the moment alone with her, pretend that the invisible barrier created by their class no longer existed. But a larger part refused to allow him to lower his guard, lest she see his desire and mistake it for weakness. He wanted her. That thought alone both stimulated and terrified him. He needed to get as far away from her as he could. _

_But somehow he knew… she had already become his reason for being._

_"It's fascinating, don't you think," she continued, "To listen to all the different theories about the heavens. From the scholars, the priests, or even we mere mortals. When I was small, my nurse told me that the stars were the souls of our past emperors and heroes of __Rome__. And when they had completed their labours on earth, they had left the burden of their bodies and returned to take their place amongst the Gods."_

_She turned to look at him, obviously waiting to see if he would offer his opinion._

_"Aristotle believed that the Body and the soul are unified in the same way that wax and an impression stamped on it are unified. That the soul is the perfect expression or realization of a natural body." _

_Relena looked at him in surprise, her eyes widening briefly. He swallowed, shaken at the information that had just crossed his lips. He had barely even spoken them aloud, but she had heard him none the less. He could not even fathom how he knew such a thing, or why he had suddenly remembered it now of all times. He was uncertain if he even knew what the words meant. She smiled at him, so soft and beatific, and he wished he could see what was going through her mind. _

_"'The mind remains throughout a unity: and it is absurd to speak of it, as desiring with one part and feeling anger with another. Sense perception is a faculty of receiving the forms of outward objects independently of the matter of which they are composed, just as the wax takes on the figure of the seal without the gold or other metal of which the seal is composed. As the subject of impression, perception involves a movement and a kind of qualitative change; but perception is not merely a passive or receptive affection. It in turn acts, and, distinguishing between the qualities of outward things, becomes "a movement of the soul through the medium of the body.'" _

_Her words were formal and stilted, making it obvious that she was merely quoting from her studies. Pausing, she watched him meditatively. "I find it doubtful that they gave you much time for self education in the slave camps Heero. But do you agree with him? Surely you must have some thoughts of your own?" _

_She leaned closer, lifting a hand to his cheek with a nonchalance reserved for close acquaintances. His skin prickled beneath her touch, and he found himself bound by her graces. "Whoever you are, Heero, you fascinate me. You have many secrets, don't you? I want to help you, even if you refuse it. But you also confuse me, excite me."_

_ She was silent for a moment, emotions playing on her face that Heero could not begin to interpret. "Are you aware that Aristotle also argued that the ability to regulate our desires is not instinctive, but learned and is the outcome of both teaching and practice? And that if we regulate our desires either too much or too little, that we then create problems?_ _What trouble will I endure if I do not accept my desires, Heero? Even if I'm not yet sure what they are?"_

_She gazed at him, the question hanging, unanswered in the air between them. Her eyes searched his own, refusing to allow him to look away. Instead, they pressed away every iota of self doubt and confusion._

_And then his sense of restraint deserted him, and he acted completely on impulse, with no idea what had propelled him to press his mouth to hers. For a fleeting moment he waited for her to push him away, slap him, and call the guards. But then he was lost in the taste of her, his mind reeling with the realisation that she was responding, her soft lips moving receptively beneath his assault. No more than a whisper, her sigh of contentment broke through his clouded conscience, only moments before he sought to draw her to him and deepen their embrace._

_What was he doing? Mortified, he grasped her shoulders, pushing her away. He drew a laboured breath, physically shaken by the euphoria of her touch. She blinked up at him, visibly as affected as he. Her pupils were dilated, almost drowning out the pale blue of her irises, and her breast heaved with her excitement. What had he done?_

_Stepping back from her so quickly that he stumbled in his haste, he mumbled his apologies while refusing to meet her gaze. Spinning abruptly on his heel, he dashed away from her, part of him expecting her to call him back._

_But her plea never came._

* * *

Relena was silent and thoughtful, in another world entirely as Hilde ran the comb through her wet hair. Dorothy had left hours ago, but her words still troubled her. Was it possible to find contentment in a marriage when there was no love? Could love perhaps come later? And what if it didn't? She thought of Heero, his image seemingly etched permanently in her mind of late. She had little understanding of romantic love, but she suspected that the stirring of emotions she felt when they were together and even apart were unlike any she had ever felt for anyone else. Society would never allow them to be together, but how could she allow herself to be betrothed to another if her heart had already been lost?

She sighed, chastising herself at her own presumptuousness. It was foolish to think that Heero felt even remotely the same way, not that she really knew yet if the feelings were exactly as she suspected. Perhaps Dorothy was right. It was lust and nothing more. She could not deny that her body craved his. But in her heart she could not help but think there was more to these emotions than pure base animal instinct.

"Am I truly so naïve to hope for love?"

The question was purely rhetorical, not even really meant to be spoken aloud, so Relena was a little startled by her maid's soft chuckle.

"Everyone has a hidden desire to love and be loved, My Lady. It is those who attempt to deny that desire that are naïve. It is a fool indeed who tries to stifle their hearts true wish, and you are certainly not a fool. My husband always said that the heart will always overrule the head when it comes to the things that truly matter."

Relena swivelled in her seat, her eyes wide with surprise. "You're married, Hilde?" She blushed, realising just how little she knew about the woman who waited on her beck and call. "Where… where is he?"

"He's waiting for me." Her reply was soft, wistful, and Relena instantly felt contrite, sorry that she had brought up a subject that obviously caused the other grief. Hilde sighed, yet her voice was steady as she continued, "Duo was one of our villages' best warriors, and he died with honour, fighting Caesar's conquering army."

Relena gasped softly, grasping Hilde's hand with concern. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" she whispered, her eyes tearing at the realisation that she was somehow, even if indirectly, responsible for not only Hilde's enslavement but also the death of Hilde's love. "Would you tell me about him?"

It was Hilde's turn to blush, and she gazed down at the comb that was clutched in her free hand. Setting it down, she lifted her fingers to brush self consciously at her short hair. The action was curiously intimate, as if she remembered a similar action from her beloved. Watching her, Relena realised that she was glimpsing someone that truly understood love.

"I was promised to Duo before either of us was even born." Hilde smiled at the memory, pausing in recollection. "My father is… was… the Laird of our village. Our father's were best friends, had grown up together, hunted together and fought together. It was a wish deep in both their hearts, that their children would unite the two families.

Of course… neither of us was too excited by the idea. My first real memory of Duo was when he pulled the head off my doll when I was four. Things didn't improve from there." Hilde laughed; the sound warming to Relena's heart. Hilde leant forward, her voice lowering as she continued her tale.

"We were so competitive, about EVERYTHING. I was such a reckless child, revelling in the games more suited to the boys, something many of the boys in the village resented. Especially Duo. Like all boys, he believed that girls were trouble. And they certainly had no place playing sword games or sports. But I was the Lairds daughter, and I never let him forget it."

Relena smiled broadly, laughing at the image of a younger Hilde wreaking havoc amongst the boys' games. Hilde grinned back at her, enjoying sharing memories that were so special to her.

"For years we fought, bickered, called each other terrible names. And when I turned twelve, my father sent me to my aunt, to learn to be a… lady. My mother, you see, died a short time after my birth, and my father feared that by staying with him, I was missing out on the upbringing that would help me to become a suitable wife and mother. Of course, I think the day I sent Duo home with a black eye after a somewhat hostile quarrel had some influence on my father's decision."

"Yes," Relena giggled, "That would have been rather… unladylike."

"I hated it… at first. And then, I came to like my aunt's company. The first year passed very slowly. I thought I would never meet the standards that my mother's sister expected of me. I was a disaster in the kitchen. My attempts at weaving and stitching were a nightmare. I realised that, while I had been running around with the boys and playing in the dirt, other girls my age had been learning the skills of providing for a family. I had been dreadfully spoiled.

It was half way through my second year that my aunt mentioned that I was betrothed. My father had made mention of it in the past, but I had thought him to be in jest. That he surely could not expect me to marry that loud, arrogant, and pigheaded boy. I was horrified. I had until I was fifteen… less than a year and a half of freedom. Less than a year and a half to change my father's mind.

I begged him relentlessly, whenever he visited, to allow me to choose my own husband. Anyone but Duo. My father had married my mother for love. How could he refuse his only daughter the same thing? But he would not be swayed. Time passed quickly, as it seems to with the approach of impending doom. I hoped that perhaps Duo would also be against the union and that he could prove more convincing. But my aunt informed me that he had accepted our engagement, and that the honour of his family would not allow him to break it. Duo was also two years older than I, already seventeen, and it was expected that he should be married. At this news, I hated him even more."

Hilde shook her head, sighing at her own foolishness, and Relena waited eagerly to hear what turn of events had provoked the woman's change of heart.

"My father spoke of my future husband with pride, telling me how he had grown to be a handsome man who was already proving his merit in battle. He doubted any man in the Highlands could best Duo with a sword, and his seat on a horse was widely admired. I would roll my eyes at each word of praise, refusing to be impressed by a man who ever remained the Bain of my existence.

So, a week before my fifteenth birthday, a week before the village would celebrate our wedding, Father sent warriors to escort me home. I never dreamed he'd send Duo himself. But he was… so different from my memories." Hilde smiled, a soft and private smile, pausing for a moment before she continued. "It wasn't so much that he had grown in height, which of course he had. Nor was it the way that he had become so broad and strong. His hair was even longer than I remembered, and he wore it back in a long braid. His face was so serious, almost dangerous, and he had looked at me on that spring morning with an intensity I could not begin to explain. It was his eyes. It only took one look into those violet eyes, and I knew that I could never refuse him.

I tried to. Believe me, I tried. He made me ride back with him, pressed against his chest with no apparent escape. I didn't want him to know that I enjoyed his embrace, so I struggled, argued, hissed and scratched like a wild cat. All he did was laugh at me. He pretended to ignore it, until I bit him. Then he threw me in a nearby stream, roaring his head off with amusement while I cursed and yelled with the ferocity of any man. And then he told me he'd missed me. And then he kissed me. And I… stopped fighting.

At the wedding banquet, Father told me that Duo had asked, no begged, for permission to come and fetch me. That he had spoken of nothing else but my return for weeks prior. That Father had given my husband leave of his betrothal commitment over a year before, and that Duo had adamantly declined. I had never known that for all those years, the bickering, teasing and fighting had only been the childish demonstration of affection. And, on looking back, I believe I had been the same.

For the years that followed, I had never known such happiness. I could never have imagined having such a kind and loving husband, and he became the centre of my existence. There was nothing I would not do for him, nor him for me. Even when he left the village with the other warriors in times of conflict, it never crossed my mind that he would not return. We were intended, we had been fated by the Gods, we would never be parted. But the Gods had other plans it seems."

Hilde paused for a moment, her gaze fixed in her lap and Relena realised that her friend was struggling to remain composed. Her hands trembled, and Relena reached forward to take them in her own. Hilde smiled tentatively, before continuing her story.

"I remember so clearly the day the surviving men returned to us. And he was not amongst them. One of them said they had seen him struck from his horse. That there was no way he could have survived. That the Roman soldiers had driven them into retreat, and they could not retrieve any of the dead or wounded. That I should grieve him and move on.

But I simply couldn't. There was no possible way I could leave him, alive or dead, alone on that battle field."

Relena paled at the realisation of what Hilde was about to tell her, knowing before the words had even been spoken just what the other woman had foolishly done.

"I waited until the early hours before dawn to sneak from the village. I know now that I was foolhardy and unprepared. I acted completely on impulse and emotion but I truly believed that I could make my way to where the battle was fought… and find him."

Swallowing against the lump in her throat, Relena brushed at the moisture forming in her eyes. She felt awed to have met such a strong and determined woman. It broke her heart to think that she had lost everything… even her freedom.

"I rode for days, resting little, frantic to find him, not knowing if I even travelled in the right direction. I tried to remember the lessons from father, his skill of tracking, and it was with only some error of course that I finally came across the decaying and bloodied soil. I searched through the rotting corpses, the sun and carrion birds making the features of the dead unrecognisable. There were countless fresh footprints, and many of the dead had been removed of anything seemingly valuable, indicating that scavengers had already been there before me. But I could find no sign of Duo. Not until…"

This time her grief was palpable, the previously contained tears breaking bounds to wash over her cheeks. Her breathing was laboured, and Relena had to strain to understand when the other woman's Celtic drawl became thicker with her anguish.

"He was such a magnificent animal. The finest in our village. Duo raised and broke him himself, and he was his pride and joy. He had named him Deathscythe, and his coat was as black as…" Hilde coughed back a sob; her eyes squeezed shut against her memories. "He was crumpled in a heap, the fatal wound in his chest large and gaping. He had fallen forward, so his beautiful head was bent beneath him… but I knew it was him. The braids… I had braided ribbon into his heavy mane… for luck; I always did it for luck… They were still there… And I knew."

Hilde visibly shook herself, opening her eyes again and glancing apologetically at Relena.

"I guess I must have fainted. The smell, the fatigue… Deathscythe… It was too much I suppose…"

Her words were interrupted, smothered against Relena's hair. Hilde stiffened in her embrace at first, surprised by her Lady's impulsive behaviour, before allowing herself to relax into her comforting grasp. They stood together in a companionable silence, Hilde hiccupping through the last of her tears while Relena whispered her sympathy and sorrow. Hugging her close, Relena wished there was some way she could ease her friend's grief but knew there was none.

"Never take each day you are given for granted, My Lady. Each moment we have is such a precious gift." Looking up, Hilde spoke earnestly. "I treasure every moment Duo and I had together, and I would never change anything if I had the chance…"

She paused, perhaps weighing up her next words. "You should tell him, My Lady. It may seem impossible to you… it is not something your brother would approve… but there is something there between you. You know I'm right. Who can know what will become of it. But you must tell him anyway. There can be no greater regret in life, than to have felt love and let it pass you by."

Relena blushed scarlet at Hilde's words, embarrassed that the woman found her so transparent but also a little relieved that she had found a confidant. She was quiet for a moment, unable to resist asking the question that had tantalized her so much of late.

"Hilde… what… what's _it _like?"

Hilde's eyes widened a little, surprised at the question but not really shocked. She grinned conspiratorially.

"Well, My Lady…"

* * *

Milliardo pushed the pile of parchment aside, sighing with frustration. Damn the Senate and their constant squabbling. He felt like he did nothing anymore but bury himself in mountains of red tape and act as mediator to a group of greedy old men. Glancing towards the large arched windows, he could see the sun was already beginning to make its' evening trek towards the horizon. It would not be long until servants came to light the candles. Another day had been wasted, cooped up in his chambers. At least dusk would bring some relief from the days' stifling heat.

Stooping back over another tiresome Senate report, he did not trouble himself to look up at the sound of footsteps. He was, however, drawn away by the sound of an abnormally harried Pagan.

"My deepest regrets, My Lord, but messengers from Egypt have arrived and have resisted all attempts to be turned away. They say they bear a gift from their Queen that requires your most immediate attention."

Milliardo stared at his advisor with astonishment. He doubted anyone had ever managed to override the older man in all the years he had served at the Palace. What the hell did the woman want that was so urgent? He swore mutely to himself, swearing that when their paths finally crossed, he would put her soundly in her place. Who did she think she was?

"Fine," the Emperor sighed, giving a wave of his hand. "Send them in."

He was not in the least prepared for the small procession that appeared before him. A thin, poised, young man led them, followed immediately by four large, ebony skinned natives. Between them, the large men carried a sizeable wooden crate, although their movements were slow and deliberate, and they set the box down with the care that suggested its' contents were of extreme frailty. They positioned the crate so the long side faced him, and moved as though awaiting permission to reveal what was inside.

"My Lord, Caesar," the messenger began, bowing low, "I come to you at my Queen's bidding, and present to you this gift."

This was obviously the signal for the slaves, who were quick to pry away the lid and sides of the box. Stepping away again quickly, they waited in silence for the Emperor's response.

By any standard, the craftsmanship on the engraved stone was exceptional, and the cloth that covered the cushions was in no doubt of being of the most exquisite spun silk. But Milliardo saw none of this. He was, instead, transfixed by the figure that lay across the chaise lounge, draped with the feline elegance of the cats her people worshipped. Her robes were spun gold, the fine fabric clinging to every inch of her lithe form, and she was decorated with a myriad of gold bracelets and necklaces. Her black, braided wig fell just flush of her shoulders, and an elaborate band of gold crowned her. Staring back at him, her eyes betrayed nothing, and it was clear to him that she would not bend easily to his will.

"May I present to you, Lucreizia – Queen of Egypt."


	7. Chapter VI

Caveat Emptor

**Chapter Six**

Milliardo had learned long ago to treat all gossip and hearsay with disdain. Such word of mouth was always subject to exaggeration and the teller's own interpretation. There was rarely even a scrap of truth to such stories. He had, of course, heard gossip of the fledgling Queen of Egypt, who in her first four years of rule had distinguished herself in truly adverse situations; the murder of her father, the uprising in Alexandria, and no doubt countless other crises. But none of the gossip circulating had paid nearly enough tribute to her beauty. It was enough to leave his mind in a momentary blank.

The Roman Emperor was not quick enough to mask the look of complete astonishment that flashed across his face, but he replaced it quickly with a hard and level glare. Obviously refusing to deign herself lower than he, the Egyptian monarch met his stare with one that was equally cool and obstinate. Feigning boredom at her host's welcome, or lack thereof, Lucrezia gave a martyred sigh and held her hand out to her hovering subordinate. The young servant was quick to take it, though she needed none of his assistance as she rose to her feet with cat-like elegance.

"Really, Emperor, your manners have improved very little over the years."

Milliardo's eyes narrowed at her words, but he remained unmoved. Truth be told, at that moment he doubted himself able to respond with even a hint of proficiency. She captivated him. What had become of that plain, graceless child? Time had certainly worked it's magic on her. There was no possible way to take in her every feature without appearing the love struck calf, so he had to content himself with a fleeting once over. It was more than enough, however, to take in her slender figure and to appreciate the proud and haughty tilt of her chin. Here stood a woman who could be considered no less than his equal.

"A hollow accusation, coming from someone who felt it fit to enter my lodgings uninvited. I trust you have an _extremely _valid excuse for this intrusion?"

The Queen had the audacity to level him with an insolent smirk. Despite the hard edge to his words, Milliardo found himself unable to dismiss her, rapt by the informality of the woman's words. Not what he would have expected from Egypt's sovereign. But then, what had he expected? An insipid, virginal puppet, controlled by her advisors perhaps. Anything but this independent, feminine being.

He smirked to himself. Well, he doubted he was incorrect in his assumption of her virginity. She was, of course, a God on Earth to her people. She could not mate with mortal men. Could not even be left alone in the company of an uncastrated man. Her menservants were eunuchs, every one of them, and of this Milliardo was positive. And considering that her husband, and younger brother, was still to reach the age of puberty, it was unlikely that their union had been consummated. Such interesting beliefs, all centred on an unspoken desire to keep the royal blood pure.

"Well perhaps, Caesar, had _you_ felt it fit to acknowledge my missives with the attention they deserve, I would not have had to. I fear you bear none of the business dexterity that your father was so celebrated for. I place before you the invitation to engage in trade with my country, trade that is by no means unimportant to your city, and you do not even credit my petition with your attention. You should consider yourself fortunate that I have persisted thus far."

Milliardo raised a reproachful eyebrow at this proclamation, leaning back in his seat and resting his chin on steepled fingertips. It was an action that usually made even the most self-assured Senator stumble through their addresses, and yet she bore it no mind what so ever. Instead she merely held out poised fingers to grasp the thick scroll that her servant offered her. Stepping closer to his desk, the action a sensual movement of hips, Lucrezia unrolled the parchment and set it upon the tabletop directly in Milliardo's view. He cast his gaze across for several moments, before looking back up at her.

"Wheat."

"That's right, Emperor. Perhaps you _are _more than just a pretty face." The woman's words, though scornful, held an air of playfulness that left Milliardo slightly taken aback. "I know that you cannot deny Rome's need for the grain, thanks to the poor cropping quality of your soils. I simply wish to… strike a deal…with you."

She paused for a moment, glancing around the room with the casual appraisal of one used to luxury. If his lodgings impressed her, she gave no sign of it. A truly cool mannered Lady indeed. Milliardo had no doubt that the conditions of this bargain were of the utmost importance to her, but she betrayed none of her possible tension. Sighing, she fixed her calm blue eyes on his.

"Egypt offers to you… a quota of our next harvest in trade for the protection of your armies. Help us to protect our stores and the new harvest, and we will repay you with a portion of our next season's yield."

Milliardo watched her thoughtfully, fully aware of the opportunity that had fallen so effortlessly into his lap. It was not, however, without its' shortcomings.

"A most tempting proposal, Queen. But I do see a potential obstacle in the fruition of such a bargain. I will not feign ignorance to the reason you require such protection from your neighbours. Your country, and neighbouring lands, I do believe, have been in famine for the past two years, has it not? What makes you so certain that you can honour your side of the bargain?"

She did not express the awkwardness at his question that he had expected; instead she flipped a hand with the casual gesture of one swatting away an insect.

"Negotiations have been made to assure the prosperity of the next crop. A high yield is assured. Amun-Ra and I have come to an agreement, and I have no doubt in the soundness of his word."

"You mean to tell me that you have placed the very welfare and livelihood of your people on the fickle promise of your Sun God? You cannot seriously expect me to enter a trade agreement based on such recklessness?"

Milliardo paused for a moment, watching her meditatively. What was this desire to approve her proposal, to enter into an agreement with her country? It was not commonsense, of that he was sure. He could not deny Rome's serious need for what she offered, but could he justify deploying his legions to defend a land that may prove incapable of fulfilling its' end of the bargain? The seconds passed in silence, as all waited upon the consequence of his musings.

Finally he sat forward rolling the scrolls back up in a decisive movement.

"Pagan, order the readiness of my fleet. We travel to Alexandria. I want to see for myself the workings of Her Highness's lands."

Turning his gaze towards, he waited for some form of argument, discomfort, even anxiety. But she remained, even still, completely untroubled. Instead, an almost wicked grin graced her lips, not unlike the satisfied grimace of the well-fed lioness.

For the most fleeting moment, Milliardo felt the eerie sensation of a man who had just set in motion events over which he would have no control.

* * *

Relena knew she was not being suitably attentive to her guest. Nodding solemnly along with Dorothy's narrative, she simply found herself unable to take in a word the other woman was saying. As they walked aimlessly though the Palace gardens, Dorothy appeared resolute in bringing Relena up to date with every current piece of scandal or gossip from among the upper classes. Relena had long since ceased trying to match faces to the names, unable to recognise many of the people that were mentioned. She doubted, however, that her companion had even noticed the glazed expression that had now settled across her face.

After the Lady Dorothy's first social visit, she had come to keep Relena's company every afternoon since. It was an occurrence that was taking Relena a little time to adjust to. Particularly after learning that she was due to become a family member. It still hurt her to think that Quatre had not told her first; instead she seemed to be the last to know. Could it be that they were no longer as close as she had thought?

A few moments had passed, before Relena became aware of the uneasy silence that had settled over them. Turning her head, she found herself the recipient of the Lady Dorothy's shrewd and calculating stare. There was something unsettling, almost feline, in the woman's eyes and Relena found herself waiting with trepidation for Dorothy to reveal her thoughts.

"So have you conquered your latest acquisition yet, my Lady?"

The woman purred the words with such nonchalant frankness that Relena was struck quite speechless. Her face flushed deeply, and she struggled to maintain her composure. Any chance of giving a smooth and cutting retort had long since passed by, and instead Relena was left to duck her head in mortification, her lips pressed together in a thin line and her brow creased. Her companion laughed softly, amused that her words had caused such a reaction.

"I should perhaps take that as a no then, my Lady?" Dorothy tutted derisively, shaking her head slowly in a gesture of mock sympathy. "Of course, my Lady, it was wrong of me to leap to such conclusions. I should never have assumed that what I deem attractive in a man would also suit your discerning palate. I have quite obviously misinterpreted your interest and I _do _apologise."

There was nothing apologetic in the woman's bearing, and she watched Relena from the corner of narrowed, scheming eyes, her lips tipped up in a wicked grin. They had barely walked ten more steps in silence before she added a final dig.

"Sooo… if you have no use for him, Lady Relena, perhaps you would allow me, as your guest, to avail myself of him?"

A number of hard swallows failed to displace the large lump that had suddenly lodged itself in Relena's throat, and it took several moments and many a calming breath before she found herself able to reply to Lady Dorothy's repugnant request. How could she answer? What should she answer? She could not allow this devious woman to know her heart's true weakness. She could not allow her privy of the one thing that possessed her minds every thought.

"Why, Lady Dorothy," Relena breathed through clenched teeth, "I'm surprised that you think it necessary to ask. I could never deny the comforts of a guest."

The words tasted wooden and bitter on her tongue, lacking of any true sincerity. But if the Lady Dorothy observed this, she did not let on.

"You truly are magnanimous, my Lady…"

Not even the rustling of leaves granted the companions warning. And there was nothing repentant nor apologetic in Heero's expression as he appeared from between the garden foliage with the effortlessness of a vision. Dorothy's words died abruptly on her lips, the slave's sudden appearance effectively removing the wind from the gossipmonger's sails. Relena could do no more than stare in astonishment as the very subject of their conversation suddenly materialised before her.

He stared at Dorothy, the disgust in his expression unmasked. The woman, who normally backed down to no one, actually cringed. Dismissing her, he turned his head towards Relena, seemingly drawn to her. Their eyes met for only the briefest moment before he ducked his head and moved quickly back in the direction he had come. Relena was unsure of the emotion she had seen on his normally impassive features. Was it confusion? Embarrassment? Could he have overheard the words exchanged between Dorothy and herself? She wished she understood what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Perhaps it would help her to understand her own turmoil of emotions.

It didn't take flawless perception to come to the conclusion that he was avoiding her. Admittedly, there were not many reasons to seek him out, but Relena felt a strange mix of disappointment and hurt when he refused to meet her eyes and return her greeting. Of course, in the past he had been by no means chatty, usually imparting no more than a grunted reply or dip of the head. Now he did not even grace her with that much. Instead he had taken to dark glares and hasty retreats. For Relena, who was accustomed to ready affability and respect, it was an unfamiliar occurrence.

She was confused. His obvious aversion to her had begun the day preceding their midnight encounter nearly a week ago. She felt more than a little embarrassed, afraid that he had been displeased or even disgusted by her response to his kiss. This thought alone tarnished an otherwise perfect memory, one that she thought of often. She had never been kissed before, and had never imagined that anything could have been so perfect. Even now, the very thought of his lips against hers sent a wave of gooseflesh across her skin.

It had been so unexpected that she could almost have sworn that the Gods had heard her whispered longing and chosen that moment to answer her wishes. What else could have prompted the object of her newly awakened desire to kiss her? She had awoken the next morning with a sense of unreality, uncertain at first that it had even really happened and that she had not simply dreamed it. But not even her wildest dreams could have concocted such a chain of events…

A light cough from her disregarded companion brought her abruptly back to earth. Blushing, she smiled apologetically at her, feeling not a little foolish. Dorothy watched Relena, her expression thoughtful and the corner of her mouth lifted with an almost imperceptible sneer.

"I do believe that you need a little… distraction from the intrigues of the Palace, My Lady. You're spending far too much time cooped up without adequate entertainment. Tell me, have you ever had the opportunity to see real Gladiators battle in person?"

Surprised by Dorothy's sudden change of subject and hoping that she was able to disguise the feeling of distaste that washed over her at the thought of such spectacles, Relena shook her head briefly in reply.

"It is something I have gone out of my way to avoid."

Dorothy's tongue clicked softly, the normally unobtrusive action actually managing to sound scornful, as she shook her head with disparity.

"That is natural, My Lady, since people do end up dying. But no one actually _wants_ to die. That is why those that are fighting are so desperate. I think that is what I find so attractive about battles. Oh, I get so excited! I am certainly thankful that I am living in this era."

Relena stared at Dorothy with an almost bemused horror, at a complete loss as how to respond to a view that she was so opposed to. How could she seriously think in such a way? How could anyone think in such a way? Relena sighed. But they did, as the amount her brother spent on hosting such games regularly paid tribute to. She could not understand it.

"You really must join me at the Colosseum this afternoon, My Lady. There is a most excellent line up of Gladiators set to fight. And my own warrior is set to make his debut in the arena today. I'm most impatient to see how he will survive against the more seasoned fighters. I did not think much of his appearance when my Grandfather first made a gift of him, but I have been told that the trainers have worked miracles on him. They tell me that the Barbarians do have a most stubborn streak when it comes to trying to break their spirit. It makes them quite formidable once they step foot on the arena apparently."

Relena shook her head vehemently, forcing her expression to one of polite apology.

"As enticing as that sounds, Lady Dorothy, I have other plans that demand my attention. Perhaps another time."

Dorothy nodded her acquiescence, actually appearing disappointed at Relena's excuse.

"Yes, of course, Lady Relena. Perhaps another time…"

Relena's companion lapsed into silence for a few moments, leaving her to revel in the silence it created. It was not to last long however. Sighing delicately, Dorothy plucked restlessly at the blooms that overhung the gardens edges.

"I heard the most fascinating story only yesterday, from Lady Sylvia, who is acquainted with one of General Treize's own Captains, that…"

Relena was finding that she was able to tune Lady Dorothy's voice out of her mind quicker and quicker with each daily visit. Smiling gently, she matched the other woman's casual stride and nodded amicably as she privately pondered the possible methods she could use to cross paths again with a particular elusive enigma.

* * *

Trowa leaned back against the marble pillar, as frustrated by Heero's continued loss of memory as he was by Quatre's ability to remain calm and reasonable about it. Even now, the Senator remained outwardly untroubled and for once it was he, not Trowa, who was offering words to appease the other's impatience.

"We have no idea what brought him to be like this, Trowa. Nor how long it has been since whatever trauma caused it. It may have been months ago, but then it may have only been weeks. He remembers his name, and that in itself must be a good sign…"

"The trader _told_ him that was his name, Quatre!" Trowa interrupted, "And that is another thing that troubles me… How did the old man know it? Something stinks here! His memory is gone, the mark of his legion has been defaced and he turns up amongst a worthless straggle of slaves. The old man was desperate not to sell him, and you know those merchants would sell their own mothers if presented with the right price. I'm grateful that he is still alive, but why is he? Who would go to the trouble to hunt him down, just to keep him alive?"

Quatre sighed, his mouth curling into a soft smile.

"I think you are reading too much into it, my friend. Who can understand the greater plans of the Gods? We must be patient. Time will heal his wounds. He will remember you."

Trowa flinched, as Quatre's words revealed his true worry.

"He is my brother, Quatre…" his words died on his lips, sounding foolish to his ears. But it chaffed him. Troubled him that his brother and childhood friend could not remember him. Was their close bond so easy to forget? Giving his head an imperceptible shake, he moved quickly to turn the conversation.

"Have you been to see your cousin of late, Quatre?"

The Senator's brief shake of the head implied the negative, obviously taking Trowa's hint to change the subject. "I've heard from some, that Lady Relena seems a little distracted. Even Caesar has commented on it."

The Captain nodded, a frown once again etching his smooth forehead. "Yes, distracted is perhaps the right word for it. But her brother would be far from happy if he knew the reasoning for it."

Quatre raised an eyebrow, watching Trowa's expression closely.

"So it is as I suspected then? My cousin has developed an attraction for her mysterious slave. Surely you do not think it can amount to anything?"

Trowa flushed. "I do not believe it to be folly on her part, Quatre. I have guarded her for some time now, and I have never seen her head turned by any man. At first I thought it was simple curiosity, that he was merely another of her 'projects'. But there is more to it than that. I overheard her speaking to her handmaiden, heard the other woman's words of encouragement. This cannot end well."

"Again, Trowa, I think you worry too much. If anything at all, it is no doubt no more than a simple infatuation. He will not return any advances her handmaiden may convince Relena to make. And Relena is by no means the type of woman that would force herself on him…"

"The handmaiden is not the only one that has been 'encouraging' her. Her new acquaintance, the Lady Dorothy, has also been quite… persuasive, in her argument. Apparently she told the Lady that it would be in her best interests to gain experience and satisfaction before she is married."

At the mention of the other woman, Quatre's eyes narrowed. "Is that so."

"Yes," Trowa could not restrain a smirk at the dark expression on his friend's face. "Speaking of which, I think the Lady Relena is a little hurt to have heard of your impending wedding from someone other than yourself. Apparently your bride has a big mouth."

Quatre sighed, muttering with annoyance as he wandered aimlessly onto the balcony. Squinting against the harsh midday sun, the Senator watched a small bird as it dipped and floated on an invisible eddy of air, apparently devoid of any troubles. There was an almost wistful expression on the blonde man's face and for a moment, Trowa thought he caught a glimpse of the burdens his friend bore on his seemingly competent shoulders.

Perhaps becoming aware of the Captain's scrutiny, Quatre stepped back out of the bright sunlight, and into the shadow of the balcony alcove. His mouth had set into a grim line, his posture making it evident that their 'meeting' was over. Trowa straightened, pushing himself from the cool marble pillar and waited for Quatre's words of dismissal. He did not have to wait for long.

"I think it is time that I had a few words with the Lady Dorothy. Perhaps we can meet again later, and we can further discuss the current situation with our comrade."

Trowa nodded slowly, curious at the rigid tone of his friend's voice.

"You would have better luck finding her if you search the stands of the Colosseum first. I heard mention that she planned on passing her afternoon there."

Quatre grimaced, his obvious distaste for the circus evident, but he nodded his thanks before turning his attention back out to the cloudless sky. Bowing casually, Trowa turned towards the door, intending to make his way back to the Palace before his absence was noted.

The hall outside Quatre's office was deserted, and the only sound was that of Trowa's heels against the marble floor. There was a sense of calm that always prevailed over the battle hardened Captain, whenever he visited Quatre's estates. The pure tranquillity of the gardens and the obvious contentment of the Senator's staff made for a comfortable environment. For Trowa the palace held none of this peace, constantly overrun as it was by servants and guards. He could never relax there, and was constantly vigilant. It was a station that, despite its' day-to-day monotony, was gradually wearing him down. He wondered how much longer he could continue with this charade.

It chaffed him that he had become little more than a high ranked bodyguard. He missed the easy comradeship of his legion. He missed the everyday life of encampment.

If it weren't for her…

Walking across the expansive courtyard, Trowa's brooding was interrupted by the sight of a servant feeding a flock of chickens from a large bowl of grain. The young woman cast the morsels out in a wide arc, sending the fowl into a frenzied scramble to reach their share first. There was something about the grating squawking and feathers flying that reminded him of the nobility that currently jostled for the attention of the Lady Relena since her return. The very thought of their hypocrisy sickened him.

Trowa shook his head vehemently. What had come over him of late? When had he become so cynical? Or when, for that matter, had he begun to even care?

Sighing, his annoyance fading as quickly as it had arisen, the Captain found himself wondering how the influence of the Lady Dorothy would change the mood of Quatre's cherished household. Trowa grinned, the action no more than a tilt of his mouth. Somehow, he thought it likely that the Lady Dorothy was capable of making both the Senate AND the battlefields appear passive.

He sincerely hoped that Quatre still loved a challenge, as he could see no other possible reason why the man had agreed to the engagement. It was not as though the Senator had anything to gain by marrying her, as the aging Senator Dermail was rapidly losing the support of many of his peers. Truth be known, an arranged marriage to any woman in Roman society was unnecessary for his friend. It had always been assumed that he would marry for love… or at least lust. And there was no possible way that Quatre could be in love with Lady Dorothy.

Was there?

Trowa's thoughts moved quickly to Quatre's stillness when he had mentioned his affianced and her advice to his cousin. The Senator's reaction to the hearsay had surprised him. Could he not know of the Lady's 'reputation'? Surely not. Trowa found himself more than mildly curious at what would transpire between the two when Quatre sought her out.

Chances were, the confrontation between them could easily rival any skirmish that was currently to be seen on the sand of the arena.

* * *

Dorothy leaned back in her seat, luxuriating in the cooling wafts of air that interrupted the afternoon's stifling heat. Tucking her feet beneath her, she settled back to enjoy the offered entertainment, casting little regard or acknowledgement to the slaves that pandered to her comforts. From her ring side position, she could see the poor and pitiable Roman civilians as they scrambled to catch the offered loaves of bread that were currently being thrown from carts by slaves at different positions around the Arena's stage. The miserable wretches. But Caesar truly understood his people. _Panem et Circenses_ indeed. Bread and circuses. Keep the masses entertained and they will not rise up against you. Nothing intrigued the horde better than theatrics and bloodshed. A loud cheer erupted from the masses, as the wagons left the stage, and dancers took their place, engaging the audience with their lithe and limber movements.

She sighed. Dorothy had no interest in dancers and gymnasts. She came to see the glory of the Gladiators. The very thought of the expected struggles and bravery made her skin tingle with excitement. The smells, the roar of the crowds, the stains of red, smattered against the pale sands of the arena floor, always threatened to overpower her senses. What better example of humanity and human frailty was there, besides the battlefield itself?

It was a shame she could not convince the Lady Relena to join her. The companionship would have been… pleasant. She wished _he_ could have been here to keep her company. Although she would never admit it to him, she enjoyed his company, what little they could afford without their trysts being discovered. Not that she thought he would have joined her even if he could. She was losing him. Dorothy sighed. The initial excitement, and risk of discovery, that had for so long accompanied their secret meetings was actually wearing off. At least it seemed to be for him. She was sure she was not imagining it. Their last joining presented none of his expected passion and attention. He had actually appeared… distracted, and his actions mechanical. Like he didn't want to be there.

Could he have heard of her betrothal? Surely not, as it had not been announced. She had told the Lady Relena, a moment of bitterness loosening her tongue, but no one else. Could the Lady have told him? No, of course not. Dorothy doubted that the two would have any reason to speak of such things, if they in fact ever had reason to speak of anything. And why would it matter to him anyway? They had made no promise of the heart, and their stations in life certainly meant that it could never be more than physical anyway. She had no intention of giving up the luxuries of her lifestyle for him and she knew that he felt the same. There was no reason why they could not continue to meet, even after her marriage.

So why his sudden coldness? Dorothy frowned, swirling her rich red vintage around the edges of her goblet and watched the ripples that formed along the surface. It vexed her that he should even think to end their attachment. No man had ever broken an affair with her. He certainly would not be the first.

A slave leaned towards her, offering her a platter laden with delicacies, which Dorothy refused with a disdainful wave of her hand. She did not maintain her much admired feminine shape by gorging herself on such lavish morsels. And besides… it was too hot. Letting out a most uncharacteristic sigh of self-pity, Dorothy mentally shook herself from her momentary slid into gloominess. Enough time had been wasted on pondering such inconsequential matters! Surely she was simply reading too deeply into the situation? Yes, of course. He was merely distracted, as men _were_ so easily distracted. She could bide her time, wait it out until he came crawling back with his tail firmly clamped between his legs and begging for her attention. Well, perhaps not begging. Dorothy doubted the man had ever begged for anything in his life. But it was still amusing to imagine.

A mischievous grin tipped up the edges of her mouth, unreserved and impish. But the guise lasted barely a moment, wiped from her lips by the unprecedented and unwelcome arrival of the very centre of her woes.

Senator Winner.

His entrance came unnoticed by none of the nobles in the patrician's enclosure, many voices raising in welcome, with invitations to join their party and general exclamations over the man's unanticipated attendance. It_ was _surprising to see him there. It was well known that Winner despised the lavish decadence of the Arena gatherings. A sign of his weakness indeed, that he felt compassion and sympathy for the incarcerated that had been sent to die there. Such benevolence had no place in their society, and certainly not in the Senate. It amazed her that the man had survived his campaigning days with Caesar's armies, let alone risen to the ranks of the Senate. It was this kindness and refusal to see eye to eye with the ways of other Senate members that would soon result in Winner finding a knife handle protruding permanently from between those proud shoulder blades of his.

A familiar bile rose in Dorothy's mouth, bitterness that despite everything her Grandfather had ever told her in life, how she was the master of her own destiny, it had come down to this. Her very existence had come to rest in the hands of such a man. A spoiled, rich man's son who had gained power not through valour and heroism, but simply because he was his father's son. It made her sick.

She watched him critically, his course apparently blocked by a peer who showed every intention of bending Quatre's ear to his dilemma. The blonde's expression was sombre, polite even, but also harried and pained at the interruption. Whatever had brought the young patrician into their presence that afternoon obviously did not include mingling. The man was agitated, an oddity in itself, and he moved restlessly from one foot to another, giving the impression of someone who had other places to be.

Dorothy relaxed back into her seat, determined to ignore his presence and enjoy the spectacles that where to take place. Already the dancers were making their way off the arena floor, making way for the first of the battles to begin. She was becoming most eager to see how her Grandfather's gift would fair in his first fight. Holding up her goblet to a dutiful slave, she watched the steady stream of red as it filled to the brim.

"I see that my informant was, as always, correct. But then, it should not surprise me to find you here of all places, Lady Dorothy."

Her hand jerked visibly with surprise, and the wine spilled unceremoniously on the stone floor. Looking up quickly, flushing deeply, Dorothy found herself face to face with the amused features of her future husband. The droll, flat tone of his voice had led her to expect a rigid and reserved greeting, but instead she was left somewhat taken aback by his gentle smile. For the briefest moment she felt her guard slip, lulled by his charm, but the lapse was miniscule and she was confident that her moment of weakness had gone unnoticed.

"I cannot begin to imagine what could have been important enough for you to interrupt your busy schedule merely to seek me out, _Senator_."

Her voice dripped with sarcasm, while her pride smarted at the thought that the man had already achieved the upper hand in their discussion. They had yet to even exchange pleasantries, and she had already resorted to a snide and defensive tone. All intention of remaining cool and aloof towards him fled the moment she opened her mouth. Such a sorry beginning.

But if he incurred any injury thanks to her acid tongue there was no obvious sign of it. Gracing her reply with no comment at all, Quatre instead sat down unceremoniously in the empty seat to her left. It was the first time that he had ever been so close to her physically, and Dorothy refused resolutely to question the strange thrill that raced unchecked along her spine. He was a man. Only a man.

"Meaning no offence, My Lady, but I am most puzzled at what draw such a spectacle as this could have for a lady such as yourself. Surely there are better ways to stimulate the mind than by bathing it in the repellent hue of a broken man's slaughter? I would have thought that you, better than any, would understand the value of human life?"

Dorothy gaped at him, all poise and detachment vaporising in the mid-afternoon heat. His words had materialised with such candour, lacking in any censure or apology that he may as well have been commenting on the weather. His voice was soft, almost soothing, bewildering her in a way no one had ever done before. He had made the observation without even a glance in her direction, his gaze fixed on the stage before them. Did he mean to provoke her? Test the ease of goading her temper?

Dorothy swallowed back her rising ire, determined not to allow him to get the better of her, as she would _never_ allow him to get the better of her. She waited for him to pursue the issue, taunt her for a reply, but he merely settled into silence, his profile relaxed and amiable. Who had entered her company? Quatre the man, or Quatre the public figure? For an unsettling moment, her heart hoped that it was the former.

"So am I overly optimistic to hope that you plan to reveal your reason for being here, Senator? I somehow doubt that it was simply to lecture me on your own sentimental opinions."

She was not prepared for the clear, expressive blue of her companion's eyes as they turned to consider her. So pure and honest, he made no attempt to mask himself. How she envied him.

"Why, Lady Dorothy, you underestimate the simple appeal of your company. How foolish would I be, not to make our… connection… known to the public? It is a fiancé's privilege, is it not?"

Dorothy flushed, displeased at the underlying innuendo. It chaffed her, the knowledge that this man meant to own her, to add her to his already impressive list of assets. Damn him! She would renounce her life before she would surrender her freedom to him. She clenched her fists in her lap, the last thread of her self-control exploding with pent up fury.

"No, Senator Winner. It is _you_ that is guilty of underestimation. Do not even begin to think that our union will come as easy to you as everything else in your prosperous existence. You shall never have my heart, nor my mind… I pledge neither…"

The angry words flew from her mouth, her throat tight with rage and voice trembling with the effort of control. How dare he? How _dare_ he? Around them, thousand of voices rose in a roar, heralding the arrival of the first gladiators onto the arena. But they were invisible to the combatants, one blinded by her fit of temper and the other by indifference.

Quatre sat in silence, allowing her words to wash over him, his lips lifted in an almost undetectable smile. He shifted restlessly in his seat, the action not one of discomfort but merely those of a man who meant to take his leave. Rising suddenly to his feet, he cut Dorothy off mid tirade, leaving her open mouthed.

"Well, Lady, the day is getting away from me. As much as I would love to stay longer and continue this illuminating conversation, my day of office is not yet over and I have matters that demand my attention."

Dorothy watched him bow formally in a stunned silence, embarrassed by her obvious loss of face. Quatre did not even wait for her reply, instead smiling broadly before turning on his heel and taking his leave. He had, without doubt, won the first round. Snatching her goblet back up, she took a deep swig and stared petulantly at his retreating back.

Well, he would not win the war.

* * *

It troubled Relena, standing on the pier and gazing up at the expansive ships, that she felt an unsettling feeling of eagerness to have her brother sailing out that evening. What a terrible sibling it made her! He was, after all, travelling into dangerous waters and other unforeseen hazards. She was a selfish being indeed. It had taken every last scrap of self-control to act the disappointed sister, when he told her of his planned trip and his wish for her to stay behind in Rome.

But she _was _happy to stay behind. She had travelled so much throughout Rome's provinces of late, and she was most satisfied simply to rest and… study. For the briefest moment her thoughts were filled with deep blue eyes, before she pressed the distraction aside.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the strong presence of her older brother, impressive as always in his tunic and toga, the golden crown of leaves conspicuous against the white blonde of his hair. The crowds of Rome had converged upon the landing place to see off their Emperor, and he presented them with a striking figure indeed. Relena privately wished the spectacle could simply be over, as the ceremonial jewellery and robes she wore were unpleasant and heavy in the mid afternoon heat.

Milliardo leaned towards her, giving her his final farewells and apologising once more for abandoning her. She replied with soft words of rebuke, calling attention to the importance of his station. She understood. She didn't mind. She would miss him. Hurry home.

He turned to Trowa, stipulating _again_ the importance of his charge, making it clear the consequences of allowing her to come to harm. The Captain nodded solemnly, used to the over protectiveness of his Emperor.

She watched him as he made his way towards the Egyptian Queen's vessel. He had agreed to travel with her, an observation that fascinated Relena. His attention was turned by the farewell of their cousin, Quatre, and they walked the final few metres to the ship together, their heads bent together in conversation.

Relena sighed. She felt hot, dusty, in need of refreshment. It had been such a long day.

* * *

Egypt's Sovereign watched the sibling's farewell from the deck of her expansive barge, intrigued by the obvious affection that Caesar held for his sister. Could the pale slip of a girl be a threat to her plans? Lucrezia frowned thoughtfully, wishing to disregard the young woman's harmless appearance. But an upbringing amongst the disloyalty and treachery of the Alexandrian Courts had long ago taught her to never underestimate anyone. At least she could rest easy in the knowledge that the young woman was to remain in Rome, leaving Caesar completely to her dictate. She shivered at the very thought of it, and Mueller, her personal servant moved closer to her, perhaps noticing her tremble and mistaking it for a reaction to the cooling air.

Ever vigilant to her needs, the Queen's minion hovered close to her elbow with the persistence of the stinging black flies that tormented the hippopotamus. She almost wished she could immerse herself in the cool Nile and rid herself of his company in a fashion similar to those placid beasts. Normally Lucrezia could tolerate his tenacity, but today it merely served to annoy her. Casting a dark glare in his direction, the Queen waved him away with a dismissive gesture, ignoring the crestfallen expression on the eunuch's normally earnest face. She had no time for nursing the feelings of her spineless page. No time at all.

Already the sun was descending quickly towards the horizon, signifying the end of another day. Amun-Ra could not have been more obvious in his message to her; that she had little time left to achieve her goal. Ten more sunsets, the God reminded her. Ten more sunsets. Self consciously, the Queen began to pace the weathered deck, her fingers locked together in a troubled knot.

Egypt was in famine. For two years now, the Great River God Sobek had held back the flooding waters of the Nile, leaving the crops of her people to fail. Their stores were rapidly depleting, and in 10 days the priests of Isis would read the Elephantine Nilometre. The Inundation was due. But the Gods were unhappy with their Pharaoh. And until she could fulfil her duty to them, the Nile would not Inundate.

For she had failed to be fruitful. She had resided over the throne for four years now, and yet Lucrezia remained barren. The Gods had given her the grace of time, a period to prove her fruitfulness, and the first Inundation had occurred shortly after she had taken the throne. But now, two Inundations later, Amun-Ra had become impatient. The suffering of her people was proof of that.

Lucrezia clenched her fists in frustration, a sudden urge to vent her rage and anxiety on those around her almost overwhelming her. How could this be happening? She was Nilus, the living personification of the river! She was God on Earth, and yet she could not satisfy her one true purpose. To ensure the prosperity of her people, and guarantee the greatness of Egypt. If the Nile remained in drought for another year, plague and locusts would join the famine, and Egypt would be no more.

Glancing back towards the wharf, she noticed that Caesar was slowly making his way towards the ship, now deep in conversation with a serious looking blonde haired man. Judging by the richness of the man's robes, he was obviously someone of influence to the Emperor. Again, the Queen filed this observation away for future use. But her eyes where instantly drawn back to the tall, impressive figure of Caesar.

The rumours had been true after all. That Rome's Emperor was surely a God. She had looked for, and found a dream, the God Out of the West. He indeed was Osiris returned from the Realm of the Dead. Returned to her, the reincarnation of Isis, to quicken her and sire her a son. He would father Horus, and then the Nile would Inundate. She doubted that he was aware of his duty to her, what she expected of him. But she would not be denied in her quest.

Lucrezia blinked against sudden tears, her lips quivering. She had fallen in love within moments of setting her gaze upon him. So long had it been since their last acquaintance, her memory of him had been vague, so much so that she had reconciled herself to meeting an ugly man. Instead she had found someone who did indeed look the God he was. As tall, beautiful and splendid as Osiris had been. It had filled her with joy and feeling. It had filled her with true love. But Caesar did not love. And she doubted that he ever would. Such was the gulf of culture between them.

But this would not dampen her resolve. Her heart was of little consequence in her pursuit to protect her people. Let Caesar believe his journey to be purely of a political nature. He was, after all, still a man.

And men were so easily manipulated.

* * *

Author's Notes

- The Nilometres were usually a series of steps by the Nile, where the water level against the steps would show how high the Nile would rise and records of the maximum height of the inundation could be taken. There are Nilometres at the temples at Elephantine, Philae, Edfu, Esna, Kom Ombo and Dendera.

Egypt received a yearly inundation - an annual flood - of the Nile. The ancient Egyptians did not realise this, but the flood came due to the heavy summer rains in the Ethiopian highlands, swelling the different tributaries and other rivers that joined and became the Nile. This happened annually, between June and September, in a season the Egyptians called _akhet_ - the inundation. The Egyptians saw this as a yearly coming of the Gods, bringing fertility to the land.

The first signs of the inundation were seen by the end of June, reaching its swelling to its fullest by September. The flood would then decrease in size around two weeks later, leaving behind a deposit of rich, black silt. The amount of silt left behind due to the height of the Nile determined the amount of crops that the Egyptians could grow - if the inundation was too low, it would be a year of famine.

-Some of you, dear readers, have already picked up on the parallels between Milliardo and Lucrezia and Caesar and Cleopatra. I couldn't help but have some form of reference to a historical romance that has fascinated me for years. Of course, there are some major differences here to the actual legend, and I am not attempting to mimic the story exactly. After all, the age difference between Caesar and Cleopatra was quite large for a start. And those who know the legend would be more than aware that their story did not end happily. Also, despite Hollywood preconception, Cleopatra was no Elizabeth Taylor. She was actually recorded as being quite unattractive. Unlike our dear Noin.

Don't you just love poetic licence?

Thanks for reading folks! Much more to come!

Love Mel


	8. Chapter VII

Caveat Emptor

Chapter Seven

The last of the sun's rays gave way to nightfall. Relena's body-servant had only lit enough candles to bathe the room with a warm glow. Casting the most perfunctory glance at the myriad of shadows the torch lights shed, Relena sank down into her seat with a loud, unladylike sigh.

The sound prompted Hilde to pause briefly in her evening task of letting down her Lady's fashioned locks. "You sound irritated, my Lady. Surely you are not disappointed because Caesar did not include you in the travelling party to Alexandria?"

Stretching her arms above her head in a leisurely arch, Relena laughed quietly at her friend.

"Goodness no, Hilde. I am more than satisfied with remaining in the Palace while Milliardo is away. I have only been home for such a short time, and there are much more interesting things here."

Hilde snorted. "Aye, My Lady, that there is. Much more interesting things." Her expression gave way to a wicked grin.

Relena blushed, understanding the Celt's meaning immediately. Clearing her throat, she refused to dignify the comment with a response and instead allowed Hilde to let down the elaborate braids and curls. And not a moment too soon. Today's style, with the added weight of ceremonial jewellery, was giving her a headache.

"You are so lucky," Relena sighed, tugging at a loose strand of her hair, "to be able to have such short hair. It must be so much cooler and comfortable."

Her companion was silent for a moment, the quick movements of her fingers stilling for only the briefest second.

"Yes, My Lady, I guess it is." Hilde's voice sounded distant. Relena chewed her lip. Perhaps her handmaiden's hair was not her own choice.

The Lady scowled. What was wrong with her lately? When had she become so tactless?

Only two days before, she had walked in the gardens with Dorothy… and he had heard them. Heero...

_She was grateful of the quiet time alone in her garden. The trip to the harbour and back had been long, and she was tired. Perhaps she should be worrying about her brother, and the potentially hazardous journey he had just embarked on. She could not ignore the feeling of apprehension that had troubled her since her all too brief introductions to the Egyptian Queen. There was an air of desperation about the woman that she feared Milliardo had blinded himself to._

_She wished Quatre had been there. His sense of people was always infallible, and Relena would have liked to know his opinion. He had been so busy of late, his visits much less frequent than before… She would ask him to visit her tomorrow. It would be good to share her suspicions with her cousin._

_But for now, Relena was happy to be left to her solitary reflections. The afternoon was already cooling, as the sun crept lower in the West. Plucking a flower from a nearby bush, she inhaled the calming aroma of its sweet perfume. So deep in meditation was she that it was not until he was only metres away that she became aware of her silent observer._

_"Heero, you must stop sneaking about so. Anyone would think you were up to no good."_

_She smiled gently, feigning a look of relaxed detachment that was quite contradictory to the racing rhythm of her heart. She should have been accustomed to the way he would appear and then disappear so effortlessly_

_"What would you prefer, My Lady? That I pass my time providing amusement to your many cosseted and pampered friends"_

_Relena could do no more than stare, his caustic tone plunging a knife into her breast. His relentless glare of condemnation only succeeding in driving the blade deeper still. What did he mean? What could she have done to have earned such contempt? _

_A moment passed, and Relena struggled to make sense of his allegation. He stared back at her, his dark eyes flashing with ire and… something else._

_And then she remembered… _

Relena's stomach twisted again at the memory that had confirmed what she secretly dreaded. He had heard her callously offer him to her companion as though she thought him no more than property.

What must he think of her? Well, she had a fairly good idea now.

She wanted to tell him that she hadn't meant it. That he had misunderstood. That she would never treat him with such disdain. But it was not as though she could tell him her true reasoning; could not describe to him the jealous burn that had eaten at her insides at the thought of him with anyone else.

It was probably better that he remain angry at her.

Relena felt the angry sting of her fingernails digging into the palm of her hands. She glanced down at her fists clenched in her lap. If only the meagre ache could divert her thoughts to something else. Something less… confusing.

Behind her, Hilde removed the last of the pins that had contained Relena's length of blonde hair, setting them aside and reaching for a brush to straighten out the artificial curls. Relena heaved a loud sigh, prompting Hilde to stop and cast a questioning glance at her.

"My Lady? Whatever is troubling you?"

Unable to meet her friends' gaze, Relena fixed her eyes on her lap. "Heero is angry with me."

Her companion lifted a sceptical eyebrow at her, her silence prompting Relena to continue.

"He overheard Dorothy requesting his… services."

Hilde's laughter surprised Relena; she stared at her maid with bemusement.

"Aye, that Lady Dorothy is bold. But why should he be angry? It is not as though you agreed--"

Relena looked away.

Hilde's laughter quickly died, subdued by the crestfallen expression on her Lady's face. "You did not deny her? But why ever--"

"I didn't want her to know... I did not wish her to have evidence that I…" Relena stumbled to silence.

Hilde watched her, her hand dropping to Relena's arm in a sympathetic gesture. "My Lady… Relena… what do you want from him?"

Shaking her head slowly, she looked up only briefly.

"I don't know."

Hilde sighed, returning to the tedious task of letting down Relena's hair. Soon she was running a soft brush through the long strands and the motion served to steady Relena's nerves.

Days earlier, Relena had asked her confidant about… the intimacies that took place between a man and a woman. Her cheeks burned even now, remembering the frank explanation the young widow had given her. Relena felt embarrassed at being naïve to such things… But an upbringing surrounded by scholars and aging politicians had sheltered her, something her more recent return to 'society' had made only too clear.

But it had reassured her to discover that she was not alone in possessing a romantic and faithful heart. Hilde had been scornful of the Lady Dorothy and the other women of society whose penchants for casual lovers were neither discreet nor taboo.

_"While I do not doubt that others have found pleasure in the flesh of a swain, My Lady, I do not think it could ever compare to sharing your bed with someone you truly love."_

Love. There was no doubting that Hilde understood the emotion exactly. But how did one differentiate between _Love_ and _Lust_? Or were they merely two different expressions of the same feeling?

Dorothy had spoken of love with scorn and derision. With such bitterness that could only have spawned from a most vicious disappointment. Had the Lady experienced true heart-break? Or did she seek to defend against it? And was she wise in her strategy? Or had she merely made of herself a cautionary tale?

Relena moved restlessly in her seat. What did she feel for Heero? She wished she could answer the one question that continued to torment her, in both wake and sleep.

What was this new-found awareness… this coiled need that lay in wait in the pit of her belly? He had awoken something in her… something that she believed only he could help her to understand.

"Hilde," Relena turned to her friend, all traces of nervousness gone. Her decision was made. She had to follow her heart.

And her heart would only have one thing.

"Hilde, I think… I think I would speak to him… Would you help me?"

* * *

Hilde exited her Lady's quarters quietly, her step light even though her heart was not. She nodded briskly to the soldiers that stood vigil outside, refusing to let their condescending glowers trouble her. What would Duo say if he saw her humble herself to mere Roman militia? What would he think if he could see her now? From a Chieftains daughter to body servant in one fell swoop.

_"Oh, how you would scold me, if you were to see me now, My Love."_

For what could have been the millionth time, her fingers strayed to brush at the nape of her neck and touch the shortened strands of hair. She could barely remember now, what it felt like when her hair had fallen past her shoulders and down her back. She _could_ still remember, though, sawing through her long locks with the dull blade, hacking away her crowning glory. Duo had always loved her hair. She would sooner die than let another man touch it.

She had been so frightened, when the slave traders first found her. She had born the lustful gazes from the men, and listened to terrible stories from the women, of perverted nobles and their 'expectations' of the women they purchased. She had listened with concealed horror, and she had promised herself that she would do anything to remain true to her husband.

It was over ten days before she had lost enough flesh from her bones for the trader to realise that she was not eating. They found her hacking the last strands of hair from her head and stopped her before she could cut her face. So desperate was she to deem herself worthless. In her darker moments, she wished she could have simply taken her life, but she knew that such a sin would see her separated from Duo for eternity. Even the deepest level of madness could not induce her to commit such a mistake. She could wait… she could wait.

But the fates interceded once more, and she found herself taken in to a most kind household. One that had clothed her, fed her, and given her sanctuary. That it was home to the very Emperor who had taken her husband from her presented only an uncommon kind of irony. At first, she had thought to rebel against their kindness… But that, in essence, would have been to bite the hand that fed her. With time she saw the logic in dropping her guard. After all… it would be presumptuousness indeed to question the plans of the Gods.

And now, despite everything, she had made a true friend. Duo would have liked Relena. Very much. But then, he had always told her that he had complete trust in her judge of character. How she missed him.

Hilde closed her eyes, losing herself in the memory of his touch. She remembered how she loved to sleep, spooned against his back, her cheek pressed to the soft plane of skin between his shoulder blades. She was never sure if it was simply his comforting, solid presence or the steady rhythm of his breathing as he slept, but sharing their bed had always been home to her. Sometimes, she wished that time could have been frozen, allowing them to spend eternity hiding in their safe haven. She could not remember ever sleeping more sound than then…. Now, she hardly slept at all.

But then, she was not the only one suffering from the loss of sleeps' good graces. Insomnia appeared the bane of several inhabitants within the 'palaces' vast walls. The servants were abuzz with talk of the reticent Heero, his nocturnal wanderings and solitary behaviour a curiosity to all. They watched him with suspicion and distrust. He was not one of them, and made no effort to be.

They had heard of his assault on the nurse that had aided him, had witnessed his silent insolence towards the head of housekeeping - a woman that demanded the obedience of every servant that entered her domain. They were afraid of him, but there was also a strange sort of respect. Like they knew he was not one of them… But something more.

_"I am not afraid of him. And more importantly, neither is Relena." _

He was only a man, and a proud and arrogant one at that. Not unlike her Duo, when she thought about it. Hilde wondered what the other servants would think if they knew of the love that grew between him and their beloved Lady. And it was love. She was sure of that. Even if it was yet to blossom, and make its' self known to them. She wanted to help them, she knew that, but there was a sense of foreboding that persisted despite the romantic inclination of Hilde's heart.

Perhaps she had been wrong to encourage Relena? She had certainly allowed herself to become wrapped up in the whole fantastical idea of such star-crossed lovers, but in hindsight, such a dalliance could only end in heartbreak. Could she really assist her Lady in this deception? She wanted to help her, knew she could deny Relena nothing. But…

For now, however, she had much to plan for the following day. And she knew that she needed the assistance of one more if she were to carry out her Lady's wishes. Hilde sighed. For Relena's sake, she hoped Caesar's trip would prove to be a long one.

_

* * *

He had spotted her long before she became aware of him. She still wore the heavy robes chosen for her farewell to her brother, and despite a shadow of weariness, her beauty was overwhelming. He had become less and less surprised when finding her wandering through the gardens on her own; her love of solitary reflection was all too clear to him now. She had plucked a blossom from nearby foliage, and she cradled the pale petals in her fingers as she walked. For not the first time, Heero wished for the birthright to walk beside her, wished that she would welcome him into her company._

_But he knew now… knew what a fool he was to entertain such fantasies. She felt nothing for him. Why should she? He should be counting himself lucky that she had not banished him from her sight after he had forced himself on her. But she had done nothing, and although he had thought to ask her for forgiveness, he had, thus far, been unable to raise the courage._

"Why, Lady Dorothy, I'm surprised that you think it necessary to ask. I could never deny the comforts of a guest."

_Those words had not ceased ringing in his ears since he had the misfortune of overhearing them. He had no one to blame but himself, of course; he had chosen to listen in on their discussion. But that knowledge did little to ease his rancour. She would do that? She would hand him over to the pleasure of another? Would she really expect him to…? The very thought sickened him._

_'I would have been better left with the slave trader.'_

_She was almost before him now, and he realised too late that his opportunity for escape had long since passed. He steeled himself, ready to receive what could only be a perfunctory greeting._

_But she surprised him, again; her eyes widened as though startled to find him there. She stopped, only a few meagre feet from him, and smiled._

_"Heero, you must stop sneaking about so. Anyone would think you were up to no good."_

_Pink touched her cheeks; she lifted the flower to her face and inhaled deeply its' perfumed aroma. Her action was so relaxed, so nonchalant, and Heero envied her. Watching her there, even more unobtainable than he could ever have fathomed, Heero felt a bitterness rise that left a most unpalatable taste in his mouth._

_"What would you prefer, My Lady? That I pass my time providing amusement to your many cosseted and pampered friends?"_

_The harshness of his words wiped the gentle smile from her lips. For the most fleeting moment, he was struck by a wave of guilt, but he was quick to quash it. He was still too affronted to allow his ire to be dampened by a pair of beguiling blue eyes._

_"I don't… understand…" She barely whispered her response, the words strangled and almost unintelligible._

_Could she honestly not understand what he was referring to? She stared at him for another moment, before her brow became furrowed and a hot flush rose to her cheeks. Relena straightened, squaring her shoulders and setting her chin with a most self-possessed motion._

_"Perhaps no one has ever taken the time to caution you, Heero, on the folly of eavesdropping. If I felt so inclined, I could set your misconceptions straight. But you give the impression that it would be a wasted endeavour. "_

_She brushed passed him then, her tone of disapproval washing over him, and left him to brood over her parting words. _

_Her reaction confused him. She was openly affronted by his accusation, even reprimanding him for listening in on her conversation. But he knew what he had heard. Did she honestly hold such contempt for him? _

_Heero scowled at her retreating back, suddenly unsure if his aggravation was truly directed at her… Or himself. What kind of fool was he, to allow himself such weakness? Turning sharply on his heel, he wished only to further the distance between them… Anything to diminish the unsettling turmoil of emotion that meant to overwhelm him. _

_'Why do I allow her to do this to me?'_

_His step faltered; stalled by the sensation of something crumpling beneath his foot. He glanced down, only to see the selfsame pale flower that Relena had cradled in her hand only minutes before. He scooped it up, and an unexpected feeling of remorse twisted his stomach into one large knot. He had crushed the very blossom she had, just moments before, embraced with such tenderness. _

_Its' petals were bruised now; no longer fresh and vibrant, instead the flower lay battered and wilted in his palm. If he thought himself a superstitious soul, which he did not, Heero could almost have gazed upon the bloom and believed it to be a most unsettling omen. Instead he found himself carefully tucking the crumpled flower into the folds of his tunic, impulsively making of it a keepsake._

_He knew, even before glancing back over his shoulder, that Relena was long gone. Sighing, he cast a disheartened eye over the empty courtyard, left to lament another ruined opportunity to be near her. _

_He doubted the Gods had ever beheld a greater fool._

"I don't know what job you could possibly have for him, Captain. Oh, he works hard enough, I grant you… But insolent! No respect at all…"

The grating falsetto of the Palace Housekeeper was an unwelcome herald to the woman's arrival. Gritting his teeth with displeasure, Heero turned in the direction of her approaching footsteps and was surprised to see the now- familiar soldier that accompanied her.

The woman visibly recoiled at the sight of him, no doubt aware that he had heard her petulant whining. It gave him some satisfaction, the knowledge that the formerly overbearing wench now regarded him with such apprehension. If anything, it meant she avoided him whenever possible. Which, of course, wasn't nearly often enough.

She recovered her composure quickly enough though, and graced him with a particularly condescending scowl. Heero was sure that the presence of the tall Captain was the only thing sustaining her sudden return of animosity.

"There you are. Have you not finished the gardens yet? Standing around in a stupor again I suppose…"

Tuning out the woman's inane scolding, Heero turned his attention to the Captain, who was silently watching the housekeeper with little expression save the arch of a smooth eyebrow. Trowa was silent for a few moments, before he twisted his head and directed his focus on Heero, cutting her short.

"Your company has been requested."

His words were abrupt, blunt, and left little room for argument. Turning sharply on his heel, he did not look back to see if 'the slave' followed or to glimpse the open- mouthed astonishment of the Housekeeper. Not waiting for the woman's consent, Heero moved quickly to follow him.

They were well out of her sight before Trowa eased his stride, although if Heero hoped to be enlightened as to their destination he was to be sorely disappointed. Instead they wove their way through corridors and across courtyards in silence, until Heero had all but lost track of which direction they had taken.

There was something in the soldier's countenance that bothered Heero. Wherever they were headed, it was obvious Trowa was not happy about it. Over the past weeks, he had become accustomed to the watchful gaze of the Captain. There were times when he thought the man had something he would say to him, ask of him… but the moment was always fleeting.

The attention was not one of a bodyguard, ever vigilant of his charge. While Heero had little doubt that Trowa was not in favour of Relena's attention towards him, he made no move to warn the slave off. Instead he gave the impression of a man waiting patiently.

Heero simply had no idea what he was waiting for.

But his normally curious manner was not to be seen today. Instead he walked slightly ahead, his back rigid and his hand clenched unconsciously around the grip of his sword. His normally smooth features were shadowed with a scowl of displeasure. It was possible that the Captain's ire was directed at something unrelated to their destination.

But Heero doubted it.

They stopped so suddenly before the large double doors that at first, he thought Trowa had lost his way. The corridor itself was certainly not familiar to him and the doors bore no identifying mark of importance. They did not resume on their way, however, and Heero waited with concealed impatience for the soldier to give out his orders.

The tall Captain watched him in silence. Heero stared back. Trowa opened his mouth, about to say something before deciding against it. He pushed one of the large doors open with a forceful shove, indicating that Heero should pass through. Sensing that Trowa had no intention of following, Heero turned back quickly, immobilized by the sudden expression of discord on the other man's face and his parting words.

They had no meaning to him. They were barely spoken … yet there was a familiarity there… a feeling of deep seeded regret… and bitterness…

"I have become accustomed to coming second best to you."

* * *

The tiled floor was warm beneath his feet. On the walls around him, the outlines of athletes, both men and women, were illustrated in mosaics. Heero cast his gaze around the bath house, observing the bath that was set in floor in the centre of the room. The heated water was embellished with flower petals, their sweet fragrance perfuming the air. On the other side of the room, a curtain separated him from what he could only assume were private sleeping quarters.

Why was he here?

Against one wall, clean clothing was laid out beside towels, oils and other bathing utensils. In his time at the Palace, Heero had never been instructed to carry out the chores of a body servant and he now found himself glaring at the implements with an uneasy trepidation.

If this was what he had been sent for, he had no idea of how to even start. If he had not already known that the old woman was not party to this task, he would have suspected it to be a set up on her part.

"There you are! I was beginning to think that you had lost your way."

Heero started, not only at the unexpected sound of the woman's voice, but at her close proximity. How had she come to stand so close to him without raising his awareness?

Hilde laughed lightly, completely oblivious to the dark glare he sent in her direction. Looking him up and down, she tutted softly.

"Goodness, look at the state of you. You can't possibly see her looking like that." Wrinkling her nose, she added, "Or _smelling _like that."

Heero quirked an eyebrow at her, too averted by her mention of a third person to take offence to her insult.

"Who..?"

"Who indeed," continued Hilde, her back to him now, as she busied herself with the items he had noticed earlier. Turning back again, she looked at him in surprise, her voice laced with exasperation.

"Well? Unless you plan to bathe fully dressed, you had better hurry and disrobe. Quickly now. I promised that I would have you ready in time for your… meeting with the Lady."

Heero started at her, dumbfounded. The Lady? He knew there was no way that she was referring to Relena. So who else could she mean? It took less than a moment for comprehension to set in.

Tugging his tunic over his head, he balled it in his fists. He was such a fool to assume that Relena had seen him as any more than a slave. That she could see him as someone who… But he was wrong. He let the fabric drop unheeded to the floor.

She had given him to the Lady Dorothy.

* * *

The body servant waved her hand towards the clean garments that were laid out for him across the empty chair, and turned her head away while he dressed. The concern for his modesty was merely a token gesture; he was sure. He actually caught her peeking glances more than once. The knowledge that she had already seen him unclothed in the bath did little to subdue his need to dress quickly.

The tunic was soft against his skin, the smooth linen a cool and luxurious change to his normally coarse, woollen attire. Standing before her, sparsely clothed and barefoot, Heero felt his stomach twist. Something was taking place that he could not control… And he didn't like it.

She looked him up and down, then quickly turned and led him into the adjoining chambers. The room was larger than he had anticipated, and softly lit by a scattered arrangement of candles that cast long shadows across the richly adorned walls. A large bed, lavishly made, rested in the 'rooms centre and he found his sight drawn to it with an increasing sense of disquiet.

"The Lady Relena is currently attending supper with the Lady Dorothy and some other guests. But you will not be kept waiting for long."

Heero scowled at her, but the look seemed to have little to no effect. Instead, she pointed to a small table that bore an enticing array of foodstuffs.

"Make yourself comfortable. I was requested to ensure you were offered a plentiful serving of dinner. We can't have you lacking in energy." She winked at him, the action suggestive and playful.

Heero stared at the platter of food, his mouth literally watering at the sight of the succulent morsels it displayed. The body servant had not brought the meagre breads, cheeses, and cured meats that were a normal part of the evening meal. Instead, he saw freshly roasted pheasant, fruits, pastries, and a generous pitcher of what he guessed to be honeyed wine. He feigned indifference, still unsure if he should trust the pixie-faced Celt; but the rich aroma that rose from the pheasant's breast tested his every resilience.

His stomach emitted a loud and distinct grumble.

"You are such a _man_, Heero. Always pride and superiority." Hilde laughed at him. "I went to some trouble to sneak that passed the Kitchen staff without raising their suspicion, so you would wound me deeply if you were to leave it waste. It would wound _her _too."

Her features had turned serious with her final words, giving an almost cautionary air. But what did he care if he offended the proud Lady Dorothy? He planned to do more than merely cause her a little offence, when he rejected her advances. For the briefest moment, he considered casting the platter aside and scattering its contents to the floor. But he had not eaten since waking that morning, and his belly was swift to remind him of it.

Hilde watched him, her mouth curved in the smallest of smiles, her hand motioning him towards the feast.

_'It would be ungrateful to insult Hilde's kindness.'_

The bird broke apart easily in his fingers, the dripping juices moist on his lips as he sucked the flesh from the bone. He couldn't remember when he had last tasted anything so good. Sinking into a seat, he barely lifted his head to acknowledge Hilde when she bid him an amused farewell, so engrossed was he in his indulgence. His stomach implored him to eat faster and yet his mind told him to slow himself, and savour what could well be the last time he would take gratification in such an indulgence.

Especially once he had warranted the Lady's displeasure.

Licking his fingers clean, he reached across to sample the contents of the bejewelled pitcher, satisfied to find that it indeed contained honeyed wine. He drank a long draught, coating his tongue with its sweet flavour before swallowing deeply. At least some good had come out of this abysmal state of affairs.

Setting the jug back down with a dull clatter, Heero wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and overcame the urge to belch loudly. Selecting an appetising twist of pastry from the already diminished platter, he snatched it up and chewed. A good fifteen, perhaps twenty minutes had already passed, but there was yet no sign of the Lady Dorothy.

_'How long does she intend to make me wait?'_

He twisted restlessly in his seat, drumming his fingers on the carved armrest. The persistent suspicion that he was being observed caused his skin to prickle down the length of his arms. Glancing around, he glared into darkened corners and at heavy drapes, mentally willing any potential foe to make their presence known now and be done with it.

But all about him remained still. Time seemed to pass at a most sluggish pace; Heero grit his teeth. He picked petulantly at the remains of the platter, wishing he could simply make his escape. But he wouldn't be surprised if the Captain had left the doors guarded.

_'Why does being here bother me so much anyway? It is, after all, only sex…' _

He grimaced, unable to even think of the idea of touching the Lady Dorothy… Or of her touching him. Was it simply that? Or was it the idea of being used purely for her fulfilment that chaffed his pride? Was it that Rele-- that his Lady was so disinterested in him that she could so easily give him away? Or was it because…

Was it because he only wanted to be with _her_?

Heero pressed the heels of his palms hard against his temples, wishing he could physically grind those unthinkable desires from his mind. To drive out the persistent need to see her, to be near her… To touch her. But the craving was buried deep in his subconscious now, revealing itself at inappropriate and unwanted moments.

Like now.

The heavy chair almost toppled over backwards as Heero sprang to his feet; the need to pace away his irritation becoming too much for him. To him, these lavish sleeping quarters more resembled a cage than the small cell he had convalesced in when he had first arrived at the Palace.

His first circuit of the room was quick, no more than a perfunctory once-over. The second lap was slower, as he inspected for possible means of escape. It was on the third that he found the unobtrusive wad of inscribed parchment.

He rifled through it, excusing the action as a method to pass the time; although in truth, he bore a mild curiosity as to what the woman read to pass the time when not engaged in meaningless gossip.

_'I am surprised she has the time to read at all.'_

Not sure exactly what to expect, Heero still found himself surprised by the words that flowed across the pages. Poetry. And not flowery words of romantic love, but a tale of Gods and great exploits. Soon, he found himself drawn in to the tale of a cunning Greek warrior, and his plan to fool the Cyclops that held him and his men captive.

_'Cyclop! If any ask thee, who impos'd_

_Th__' unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos'd,_

_Say that Ulysses, old Laertes' son,_

_Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won _

_Surname of city-raser, bored it out.'_

The storyteller's words were addictive, and Heero found himself so distracted by the saga that he all but lost track of the passing minutes.

"Are you acquainted with the Legends of Ulysses, Heero?"

His fingers tightened; the parchment crumpling in his clenching fists. Could his own ears be mocking him? _'That is not…' _Twisting sharply, Heero turned towards the voice, and steeled himself for disappointment.

But he was not mistaken.

"Relena..." He all but breathed her name. A moment passed, and then a second one expired in the silence. Heero collected himself enough to glance behind her and find that they were alone. Where was Dorothy? Confused, he could only stand speechless and bewildered, the forgotten pages slipping from his fingers.

She appeared to mirror his confusion, perhaps thrown off balance by his reaction to her. The sweet smile that had accompanied her words was now frozen on her lips and she blinked rapidly.

But the rustle of the papers as they settled on the floor helped her to regain direction and Relena moved briskly to gather them up, crouching at Heero's feet while he watched in wonder.

She straightened quickly, standing so close… and yet not close enough. The poetry was now clutched in her crossed arms, pressed to her breast in an almost defensive pose. Again, Heero tore his gaze away from her and stared at the heavy doors through which she had entered. _Why is she here? Has she come to explain why I'm here? To excuse herself, perhaps? To announce her guest?_

Heero felt anger bubble and froth like a wound in his chest, but her gentle smile cured the poison before it could infect the rest of his body. And then he could only gaze at her, captivated by the soft waves of hair that cascaded over her shoulders, her skin almost golden against the bright white of her robes.

Relena fidgeted; the faintest tinge of blush spreading across porcelain cheeks. She did not shrink away from his gaze, however; instead she lowered her flimsy shield of papers and directed her previous question to him again.

"Have you heard the stories of Ulysses and his great Odyssey before?"

Giving only the briefest shake of his head in reply, Heero gestured towards the manuscript. "These… belong to you?"

His query was low and gruff, but he was sure he failed at any attempt to conceal his perplexity. _If they were hers… why were they in here…?_

"Why yes of course. They are mine," Her reply was puzzled, but her smile genuine, "These are my chambers, why else would they be here?"

Heero felt his mouth go dry, her words ringing in his ears. '_What is going on?'_

"Your… Chambers."

"Well, not physically mine. But they are the chambers Caesar provides for me…" Relena was looking at him, her smile still in place, but no longer as wide. Her brow crinkled.

He spun away and glanced at his surroundings again. And was struck dumb at how obvious… _These are no mere guest lodgings_. He berated his stupidity under his breath.

"Heero…" There was a trace of steeliness in her voice, and when he turned back to her, he could see her stricken expression. "Heero… Whose chambers did you think they were?"

He swallowed against a burning sensation in his throat.

"Wh-who did you think…" Her chest rose and fell and all the liveliness drained from her complexion. "Who did you think… you were waiting for?"

There was no need to answer her. She had already reached the correct conclusion, and he could see that clearly. It was as though all the air had been squeezed from her, and he watched with some discomfort as Relena moved across the room and sank onto one of the seats he had earlier vacated.

"I'm sorry that you overheard us that day, Heero. But, it wasn't what you think." Her eyes flit up from the floor, and then back down again. "Please understand, that I would never ask such a thing of you…" One hand came up to her throat. "I couldn't…"

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading him to believe her…

He frowned and glanced away

"Do you think so little of me?" She gave her head a minute shake, "Well, why shouldn't you…But I wouldn't… _wouldn't_ treat you with such little respect… please know that…"

He closed his eyes against the desire to comfort her that swelled in his chest. Yet before he knew it, his feet had carried him across the room until he was rested awkwardly in the seat beside her.

"Then why didn't you…"

"Why didn't I just tell her no?" Relena sighed, turning her face away from him, "Because I didn't want her to know… To suspect…"

She seemed unable to meet his gaze now; she moved uneasily in her seat and her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap as if they had a will of their own. Heero watched her solemnly. His fingers itched to brush away the loose tendril of blonde hair that blocked his view of her face, his senses thirsting for the remembered texture of her perfect skin.

"Why…" Relena's voice was whisper soft, so thick with insecurity that she stopped herself. She straightened her posture. "That night… when we talked… why… Why did you kiss me?"

It was to Heero's advantage that she did not look at him as she spoke. He was certain his surprise was written all over his face. It took him a moment to school his features. He remained silent for a minute.

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

She looked at him then, her eyes flashing with surprise and… disappointment? She seemed to wilt before him, the profile of her downcast head reminding him suddenly of the pale flower that he had crushed so carelessly beneath his foot. Why did he seem destined to crush her in the very same way? It was only then that it occurred to him. Could it have meant… Did that kiss mean something to her?

Was that why he was really here?

He watched in dazed silence as she rose quickly to her feet, unable to ignore the gentle sway of her hips as she moved across the room to gaze out at the balcony. She appeared unbalanced, perhaps discomforted now that he had answered her question. Her hands were clasped to her breast, and Heero was sure he had seen her shiver. It was only slight, but he had seen it.

Another moment passed by when a slight breeze stirred through the room. It picked up the threads of her robes. Standing as she was, a bracket of flickering candles behind her, the light outlined the smooth curves of her body beneath the paper thin fabric of her robes. Her hair was loose, unadorned, while her throat and limbs were free of trinkets. His heart lurched in his chest.

"Of course," she murmured, her back still turned from him, "Of course… I feel so foolish…"

Heero picked himself up and moved quickly to stand behind her. The Lady started at the touch of his hand on her elbow.

"Why did you _let_ me kiss you?"

Relena turned to him, placing no more distance between them as she curved her face up to his. She was so close; all he needed do was drop his mouth closer to taste those inviting lips again. But he restrained himself, his need to hear her answer relentless. His hands, however, had their own agenda it seemed, settling around her waist as though they had a will of their own. She did not shrink away, something Heero noted with some hope.

"Because…" She breathed, "I wanted you to. More than I've ever wanted anything."

She moved closer, melting against him, her head angled to make her lips even more appealing than before. It was all too much…

"I am just a slave, My Lady… You should offer yourself to one more worthy."

Relena tilted her head at him, as if watching him. She threaded her fingers with his and lifted his hand to rest above his heart. She let it lay there a moment, before mirroring the movement until her hand pressed his above her own heart. She smiled gently.

"We are in my chambers, Heero. There is no stature or hierarchy here. We are equal. And the only rules we must follow are the ones from our own hearts. I know what mine wants, no, demands. Listen… What does yours wish?"

He swallowed deeply, knowing without having to check with any other part of his heart or mind - exactly what he wanted. She gazed up at him, the blue depths of her eyes betraying her nervousness, and he knew then what she offered.

He bristled in her embrace. _'I cannot allow myself to surrender to this… desire.'_

He opened his mouth to tell her this, but the look on her face stopped the flow of words from his throat. _'Is this some sort of a test? Maybe someone put her up to this?'_

Clenching his jaw, Heero wished for the will to step away. To make his excuses and flee the room. _'No matter how much I want…'_

But he knew it was an artificial wish. For more than his heart entreated him to stay.

_She deserves someone worthy… Worthier than me…_

The tiny voice of reason was quickly failing beneath the combined strength of his desire, heart… and soul.

_'But I… Am only a man._

_And she…is here…right now… _

_With me.'_

Pulling her closer, the pure heat of his lips against hers was enough to banish what little doubt remained. His fingers buried themselves in the thick strands of her hair, relishing the soft pleasure of her body pressing against his. She sighed softly, the exhalation satisfied and yet shaken, reminding him of her innocence. Breaking their embrace, Heero stared down at her, taking in her flushed cheeks and plump lips. Relena returned his gaze through darkened lashes.

_'I want…'_

"Relena… What do you want from me?"

_'This. If she says…she wants this…_

_I know I can't deny her.' _

"You, Heero," she whispered. But her answer sounded so frank, so certain.

"Just you."


	9. Chapter VIII

Title: Caveat Emptor Chapter: Eight  
Author: Melodrama 

Archive: Blissful Ignorance; M  
Warnings: Implied nudity and Violence in some chapters  
Pairings: 1xR; 2xH; 6x9

AN : I'm not really one for author's notes, and I _do _try to avoid them in general, but I felt I couldn't post this chapter without sending out a HUGE apology to those of you who have waited so patiently for me to continue with this story. I am truly ashamed for leaving you hanging, and I have no real excuse besides a complete melt down in my real life. But I've been working away at this chapter when I could and finally here it is.

As far as chapters go, it's not the most action packed, and for that I apologise too. But my muse IS back in full fledge now, and so I hope not to leave such a large gap between chapters again.

Thank you so much to those who left such encouraging reviews and sent such kind emails. It meant a great deal, and it is to all of you that I dedicate this instalment.

* * *

Quinze's voice was high-pitched; the incensed squawk loud enough to draw the curious gazes of more than one of the patrons in the small but crowded market.

"Sold? You _sold_ him?"

His mouth flapped flaccidly, his expression resemblant of a landed fish. All remaining colour drained from his already pale complexion, before flushing a deep and angry red. Remembering where they were, he lowered his voice to a strangled snarl before continuing.

"Keep him alive, I said. Keep him downtrodden and browbeaten. Keep him broken if the need required it. But the main intent, you old fool, was to KEEP HIM!"

The trader watched him with barely concealed interest. Business had crossed the men's paths on more than one occasion, and this was not the first time Quinze had left 'merchandise' in his care. But never before had Jay seen his associate in such a state of panic. _What value had the slave been to him?_

The concentrated ill intent that was now directed in the trader's direction would have been enough to reduce other men to quivering masses. Such was Quinze's reputation. But Jay was only too aware of his own mortality; he was old and had seen much in his life. The idea of dying did not frighten him. And so it was a steady hand that raised his mug of ale to his lips.

"I had little choice, my friend. The buyer was very… persuasive. They simply would not be denied. It was not as though much profit was to be made. The price was barely enough to cover his keep. You should be thanking me for relieving you of him."

His words did little to mollify his colleague, however, judging by the deepening hue of purple that rose up his wrinkled throat. The fist that clutched his mug of ale shook, his composure deserting him completely in the light of the Trader's lack of remorse. Jay watched him with heightening curiosity. _Was that... fear?_

"Then you must get him back!"

Spittle flew from Quinze's mouth, and the tip of his tongue darted across his parched lips. '_Oh this is too good! Too amusing! To see this man in such distress. To see him piss his own pants. What a story this would be to tell.'_ Jay swallowed his own glee, feigning indifference.

"That would be impossible. Who knows where he is now. Forget the slave, Quinze. He is lost to you."

"But what will I tell him! After the trouble to get him…"

Jay rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he drained the last dregs from his beaker. Tossing the cup back down carelessly, he graced the other man with a pitying look. He squeezed Quinze's shoulder in an almost fatherly, but most certainly condescending gesture.

"Tell him the slave is dead. He would never know otherwise. Cut your losses and be glad to be rid of him."

Quinze flipped the old man's hand away with a shout of fury.

"It's not that easy! You stupid old fool! You cannot fathom what you have done! May Jupiter curse you!"

The expression of hatred he directed at Jay as he leapt to his feet was only slightly diminished by the fleeting moment where he nearly toppled over his own seat. He rocked back on his heels for a second, before righting himself and spinning away, pushing his way through the crowd with an air of malice that sent people scurrying.

Jay chuckled. Whoever the boy had been, he had certainly brought some excitement of late. Straightening his tunic, the trader turned to make his way back to his stall.

He was sure that this would be the last he would hear of both Quinze and the enigmatic Heero.

* * *

Enveloped by the silence, the serenity of her chambers, it would be all too easy for Relena to forget that a whole world existed outside this very room. Even now, as the first rays of dawn crept their way across the marbled floor, she could fool herself in to believing that this was some void, some hidden space that allowed time to go by without her. Without them. A window that could hide them away; so that no one would ever take him away from her.

Relena shivered, drawing her light shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had been awake for hours now, watching his profile in sleep, and basking in these feelings of contentment, elation and… an uncertain passion for him that she could not explain.

But not regret. Never regret.

Leaning back against the soft cushions of her chair, she gazed across at his slumbering form. What a picture he made; her fingers itched to trace the smooth planes of his exposed back, to follow the curve of his spine down past the linen that slung low over his hips.

He slept like one that had not seen sleep in an age. She had not seen him stir even once in the hours that she had sat here, and his face bore the smooth expression that only a dreamless sleep could afford. Rising soundlessly, Relena crept back to the side of the bed; she wanted to curl up against the solid comfort of his body or simply brush away the heavy bangs from his brow, but was afraid to wake him.

Her body ached with a strange stiffness she had not expected. Her skin left marked, no longer her own, completely his. Relena knew that she could never allow another to touch her… the way _he_ had touched her. She wondered… did he know this, understand this? Closing her eyes, she remembered the intensity in his gaze, the possessiveness in his caress. The way he had claimed her as his alone…

She shivered with recollection, her heart quickening even now at the memory of the night before. But it was morning now. Would the dawn's rays chase away the dreamlike fancy of twilight's resolve? Once awareness returned, would _he_ regret?

Relena squeezed her eyes shut against the very notion. '_No. You must not think such things.'_ Clenched fists halted the wayward fingers that wished to stray once again to his smooth brow. '_Let him sleep…'_

The tap against the wooden door was so light, had she not been silently observing her slumbering companion, she would have all but missed it. Tugging the sheet higher, until it covered him up to his shoulders, Relena padded softly across the room on the balls of her feet. It was a strangely protective gesture, but not one that she had consciously made. She was not, after all, of a jealous nature, nor did she think to hide him from prying eyes. Either way, Heero slept on, the action lost on him.

The handmaiden's face was apologetic as Relena allowed her to slip quietly into the room, shutting the doors firmly behind her.

"I'm sorry, My Lady, to disturb you so early…" Hilde cast a curious glance around the room, coming to rest briefly on the rumpled bed linen, and dropping her voice to a hushed whisper before continuing, "But I didn't want to raise suspicion by bringing your breakfast later than usual…"

Relena shook her head in reassurance, "Of course not, Hilde. You were right in doing so…"

"The House Keeper has been demanding to know where he is. The Captain told her that he was on loan to the Winner Estate, but that you would let her know today how long he would be gone. What should I tell her?"

Relena frowned. She had not thought of that. Heero's absence would naturally not go unnoticed. She would have to thank Trowa for his resourcefulness when she next saw him. Glancing wistfully across at Heero, hoping he had not been disturbed by their whispering, Relena considered what she should do. Of course she wanted him to stay here, with her… even if for just a little longer. But what did he want? It was presumptuous of her to assume that he would even want to stay… And what possible story could she give the snooping Housekeeper? She had no practise in deception…

"Do not let it trouble you, My Lady," Hilde's soft voice interrupted her thoughts, "I will speak to her for you. It will not be too difficult to stall her. You should make the most of your time together…" She paused a moment, watching her mistress closely, "Before your brother returns."

Hilde laid the breakfast tray on a nearby table, giving Relena's hand a reassuring squeeze, before slipping back out the heavy doors, not waiting for a reply. Relena stared blankly at the solid wooden surface, suddenly struck with an unexpected pang of apprehension.

She could have stood there for any amount of time, silently plotting possible ways to persuade Heero to stay concealed in her chambers for a little longer, had his deep baritone not cut her short.

"Do you normally 'loan out' your slaves to other households?"

Physically starting, Relena turned quickly to the centre of the room, her gaze stopped abruptly by the steady stare of her sleeping companion. Half sitting, the thin sheet draped nonchalantly across his lap, he watched her with an easy candour. It was all Relena could do not to openly gaze at him.

He looked decidedly sleep ruffled. His heavy brown bangs feel across his brow with even more than the usual disarray, and his eyelids were still a little heavy. But his eyes were alert, suggesting that he had been awake longer than she had suspected. She blushed. '_How much had he heard?'_

"Not normally, no… I guess…" She gave a small, embarrassed smile, "But things seem to have become less and less normal of late."

Heero raised an eyebrow at this, his thoughts unreadable. Relena felt restless beneath his measuring glare, feeling naked to his eyes despite her modest attire. Seeking distraction, she reached gratefully for the breakfast tray that Hilde had left her, carrying it across the room to him.

He didn't move as she sat down in front of him, laying the tray down between them. Drawing her legs up beneath her, she smiled encouragingly as she gestured at the selection of foodstuffs.

"Hilde has brought a fine selection. I hope you have a healthy appetite…"

Relena's words dried in her throat, her clumsy attempt at light-heartedness thwarted as Heero reached across to cup her face in his hand. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and he leveled her with a look of quiet reproach.

"You look tired."

Blushing deeply, Relena ducked her head with embarrassment. What would he think of her, if he knew she had passed the night away simply watching him sleep? What kind of fawning, naive simpleton did that make her? She nudged the platter at him again, only satisfied when he finally took a sample of the fare. It took his attention away from her, if only for a moment, and she used it prudently… memorizing the shadow of his hair against his brow and the stubble that darkened his jaw. What she would do to have such a picture to awaken to every morning…

They ate in silence. Or rather, Heero ate while Relena watched quietly, only occasionally picking at the meal under the pointed scrutiny of her companion. Never possessing of a hearty appetite at the best of times, her desire for food was now completely lacking. Perhaps replaced by a desire of another kind…

"You risk too much."

Heero pushed the near empty platter away with a dismissive shove, leaning into the empty space it left behind. His scowl was dark, but his expression bore merely traces of concern, rather than anger. Relena stared back at him, her heart sinking; waiting for him to gain his feet and take his leave. She opened her mouth, struggling to think of something to say that would stay his flight.

"I…"

He didn't move, however, instead smoothly interrupting her, his voice softer this time.

"It would be unwise for me to stay here any longer… the consequences to you should we be discovered…" Did he present his reasoning to convince her or himself? He appeared unbalanced, even uncertain, and it was a side to him that Relena had not previously encountered. It was curiously… endearing.

"I risk no more than you, Heero. Less in fact. But I have no wish to force you to stay here… with me…" Relena sighed; she had not intended to appear so desperate.

"Why…" He had barely breathed the word, but it rang louder in her ears than had he shouted it. _Why?_

His eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer that she was still struggling to understand herself.

"Stay…" Her plea was little more than a sigh, and she took a moment to reassert herself. "No one is expecting to see you today. And I know we can trust the Captain and Hilde to keep our secret. Surely we cannot waste their efforts at covering our absence?"

Heero raised an eyebrow at this before nodding briefly.

"It _would _be a… waste…"

Relena smiled at him. "Just for today, then. Things can return to normal tomorrow…"

* * *

The Head of Housekeeping listened to the young slave with an air of contempt. How foolish did they think she was? First the Captain, and now this arrogant wisp of a hand servant. Did they honestly think that she did not know what was going on in her own house hold? Under her very nose?

"… she has asked not to be disturbed at all. I'm sure it is just a minor ailment, and she will be feeling more herself tomorrow. Perhaps… perhaps it would be best if she received no visitors. The Lady really does appear most poorly…"

The housekeeper merely grunted at her, waving her hand in dismissal. Bowing quickly, her pale cheeks flushing deeply, the maid turned on her heel and hurried away. The woman watched her go with some ire, furious that she had been unable to prevent the inevitable.

She should have worked harder to keep that scum further from the Lady Relena's attention.

She blamed that high born but immoral harlot, the Lady Dorothy. She had led the young woman astray; there was no doubt of that. Her Lady would never have acted on what was obviously a harmless crush… would never have soiled herself with a man so beneath her.

The older woman thought regretfully of the young lady she had watched grow up within these Palace walls. She could not help the maternal feelings that the child evoked in her, for to her she was exactly that. Still a child. Could she be blamed for wishing to protect her from the… crassness of Society? What was good for other young Ladies was by no means good for the Lady Relena. She was above such… intrigues.

The Housekeeper was sure she was not alone in this conviction.

'_Lady Relena's brother… Caesar will not be happy.' _

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, watching the retreating back of the young Celt. So they thought to conceal this disobedience from those that deserved to be made aware, did they? Well, they had _underestimated_ her.

Making her way back towards the kitchens she began to plan. It was her duty to remove the Lady from such poor influences. Or perhaps it would be better to simply remove the poor influence? Only the most direct approach would be suitable…

She wondered briefly where she would find Une. The mistress could provide her with just the… _contact_ she needed to carry out her purpose.

And the whore owed her a favor or two.

* * *

Heero dressed quickly; head bowed and determined not to meet her eye, lest his resolve fail. Already early light had begun to creep across the night sky. Soon the household would begin to stir, as the servants rose early to begin the day. If he waited any longer, he could not possibly sneak out of her chambers without someone noticing. He had to go…

Their time together had passed so quickly. He had thought at first, that she would try to learn more about his background, would try to solve him like a puzzle. But not once did she mention his past. Instead it was he that asked her about hers, happy simply to listen to her soft reminiscing.

They spoke of trivial things… of her brother and memories of her father. Of her travels, and her studies. She read to him from the stories of Ulysses, and he took pleasure in her smiles and laughter.

And they had taken pleasure in each other. He shut his eyes against the memory of her soft skin against his… her taste… her touch…

It was a supreme act of denial that he told himself he could not love her. But his head knew the truth of it… and reminded him just the same. For his own preservation… he should not love her.

But it was too late.

He knew she was watching him, could almost feel the waves of her disappointment washing over him. But she knew as well as he did… They had both decided…

_There was a natural way that her head fit into the crook of his neck. The idle trace of her fingers across his chest revealed that she was still awake, but the movement was slow and languid, which made him think that she was not far from dozing off. If he was to broach the subject, it was best that he did it now. _

"I should go back in the morning." The slow progression of her fingers stilled, "It has been three days. There is only so long we can hide…any longer and we are sure to be discovered…"

Her sigh was soft, but it was there. She turned her head, pressing her face closer to his neck and curling closer to him in protest.

"I know… but…"

She sighed again, her breath warm against his neck, and that action alone was enough to drive away every last ounce of his decisiveness…making him want to forget that he had even considered that they end this… moment.

But it was too late. The spell had been broken.

"Is it wrong…Is it selfish of me to want to keep you here?" Her voice was whisper soft, and for a moment he was unsure if the question was even directed at him. Just the same, he shook his head silently, his hand tightening on her hip as he held her closer.

She lifted her head then, fixing him with eyes of the most cerulean blue. "Promise me though, Heero. Promise me you'll come back to me as the sun sets? We will let them take away our days… but promise me they will not rob us of our nights? I do not think… I do not think I could rest again without you here beside me…"

Heero drew a deep, steadying breath. Without realising it, Relena had managed to soothe the uneasy beast that had begun to stir in his subconscious. The animal that gnawed at his confidence that warned him of his imminent rejection… that he would lose her favour…

"I promise."

* * *

The massive bow of the Nilus Philopator cut through the dark waters of the Mediterranean Sea, drawing them closer to the harbors of Alexandria. Below deck, some 240 rowers drove the 130 meter ship forward, the slap of the oars against the water and the resonance of the drum beating a hollow rhythm.

Over a century old, the ship had been lovingly maintained, truly a vessel for Royalty. Ingrained with gold and ivory, carpeted with the finest Persian rugs and rich paintings and tapestries lining the walls, it was a testament to the richness of Egypt's wealth. On the deck, large rooms for baths, receptions and banquets lay between stern and bow. Below deck, but above the oar banks, was accommodation for the plethora of servants and of course the Pharaoh's private quarters.

But it was above deck of this mighty vessel that Caesar had chosen to find a moment of solitude, to reflect on the events of the past few days. They had been at sea for a nundinum#, and Neptune had so far graced them with a restful crossing. The sea had remained relatively calm and it was expected that they would reach their destination by dawn the following day. Milliardo felt a certain relief at the thought. He had never been one for excessive time at sea. He had always felt more at ease on terra firma.

This expedition, however, had provided some more… pleasurable diversions than he had expected…

Caesar scowled, forcing unwelcome thoughts of the Egyptian sovereign from his mind. The woman was some kind of witch, there was no other explanation. Why else had he so impulsively chosen to make this journey? He could have so easily sent an envoy to inspect her province. It had been an enormous error of judgment on his part to allow himself to be… led by her.

This was not the time to be away from Rome again. He had already spent such little time in the Senate itself since the death of his father. For the last ten years Milliardo had fought for the Glory of Rome, continuing with the plans of his late father, the former Caesar. He had conquered five nations and filled the Empire's treasuries with gold.

And for what? To return home and find that the villas of his Senator's had grown larger and more impressive, while many of his people slept in the streets. He did not conquer for them. Those treasures and land belonged to the people, and the soldiers that fought for them.

He would set things within the city's great walls right. And the Senate would do all it could to stop him. Senator Barton and his cronies. The _Boni_. They were exactly what the government did not need. Politicians who opposed for the sake of opposing and who did not understand what they opposed. _Boni_ opposition was irrational, rather than based on genuine, thoughtful analysis.

And now with the added threat of having their amply lined pockets emptied…

_It had not surprised him to see Barton and his shadows still hovering nearby as the other Senators filed out of the Forum. He had expected some form of confrontation since the moment of his return. The Senator had become overconfident and arrogant in his absence, taking far more liberties than his station truly deserved._

_He had no doubt heard the rumors of Caesar's intended upheaval, though none had yet been made privy of what Milliardo's exact intentions were. Such was Senator Barton's greed and lust for power, that he would be the first to approach him. _

"_There are whispers, Caesar… disturbing rumours… I had hopes that you could perhaps set our minds at ease."_

_Leaning back in his seat, Milliardo fixed him with an indifferent eye, revealing neither his distaste for the man, nor his derision._

"_I would not have thought you one to lend significance to the gossip of others, Senator." But he did. Of course he did. Milliardo knew that Barton lived by, thrived on, the intrigues of hearsay. Old men made greater scandalmongers than old women. No matter how they may deny it._

_He watched him stutter and baulk, annoyed already with this banter. Sighing, he decided to put the men out of their misery._

"_If you must know my mind this instant, the so be it. When I return from Egypt_ _I will bring about the Decree of Rome; a new set of laws that redistribute the land from the influential few to the people of Rome, where it belongs."_

_The older man's eyes narrowed, doing little to mask his obvious displeasure. The mouths of his companions gaped like landed fish, mouthing their silent objection, lacking even a little of Barton's self control. _

_Stilling them with a glare, Senator Barton returned his eyes to Caesar, the smooth trained expression of good-humor back in full force._

"_Of course, the Senate looks forward to a vigorous debate."_

_Milliardo gave a minute smile, his words even but dismissive._ "_Good. My reforms begin with the Senate and it will take old friends to see them through." _

It would be foolish indeed, not to suspect that the _Boni _plotted in his absence. A diligent eye would need to be kept on their movements. He was grateful for the knowledge that his cousin was a trusted ally; he could rely on him to inform him of the politicians movements. He did regret the loss of the perceived infallible Aquila, however. Truly exceptional assassins were generally so hard to find.

He had still to forgive Treize for that carelessness.

A light cough behind him drew Milliardo from his thoughts and turned his attention to his advisor. Nodding silently to Pagan, he waited as he bowed and stated his business.

"Caesar; I have been conversing with some of the Queen's less discreet minions, and there appears to be something rather interesting you may wish to know about."

Eyebrow raised, Milliardo listened patiently, his expression darkening as his mentor disclosed his intelligence. The man had barely finished when Caesar stalked past him towards the Pharaoh's private chambers, his expression thunderous.

Slaves and guards scurried out of his way, the lively chattering atmosphere in the assembly room grinding to silence. But in the midst of it, their Queen watched him with complete nonchalance, her lips turned up in a coy smirk. The knowing glint in her eye left him unsettled, and for an instant he paused in his stride.

But the moment passed, and his anger flared again.

"At exactly what stage were you planning on telling me that the protection you required was from your own brother?"

* * *

# The Roman week… a nundinum… was eight days long. 


	10. Chapter IX

Lucrezia sighed inwardly. This was not the way she had planned things to go. She had intended to break the news to him gently, perhaps when he was at his most vulnerable. Lull him in to a false sense of security and then reveal the identity of her enemywhile Milliardos guard was down.

It was really his fault _anyway_. He kept... distracting her. She had had every intention of disclosing herself after their first night. But after it had proven so satisfying, she had been loath to ruin the mood and had promised herself to speak with him the following day. What did it matter if two days, then three had passed without talk of politics and war?

After the fifth day she realized that she could not postpone discussion any longer. She had gone to his chambers with full intent to deliberate with Caesar and plead her cause.

By the seventh day...

Lucrezia sighed again, a long and drawn out affair, and twisted her position to one that might be more pleasing to his eye. She pointed her toes, stretching her legs provocatively and straightening her robes, allowing them to slip and reveal another inch of calf. She couldnt help but smirk to see his line of vision drop and linger there a moment; if only for a moment.

It was no good though. He had caught her off guard and he knew it. Pouting; the image of a petulant child, Lucrezia gave a sharp flick of her wrist that sent her followers scattering from her chambers.

"Why, Queen, has your co-ruler of the throne of Alexandria and husband sent you into exile? And why are you leading an army of mercenaries again your own people?"

Lucrezia looked away from him, feigning annoyance at his questions.

"I have become aware," Caesar continued, "That the succession to the throne of Alexandria is somewhat different to the throne of Egypt of the Nilus, a position you as pharaoh enjoy on your own. Pray enlighten me, why your husband has found it fit to eject you from Alexandria."

The Egyptian monarch was silent for a moment, suddenly fascinated with a precious gem imbedded in one of her bracelets.

"Because my subjects rose up against me."

Milliardo raised an eyebrow at this.

"And why did they rise up against you?"

"Because of the famine, Caesar."

He waited for her to expand on her declaration, his expression one of skepticism, but Lucrezia refused to indulge him.

"And how are you responsible for the fickleness of the seasons..."

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Lucrezia rose to her feet, moving away from him to pace her chambers in agitation.

"Because I have failed in my duty as Pharaoh I have failed to be fruitful."

"So why do they not rise up against their King too surely he must accept some responsibility"

Lucrezia shot Milliardo a look of veiled contempt, frustrated by his failure to understand.

"My brother does not want me. He wants our sister for his wife."

She frowned at his obvious lack of comprehension, and continued before he could interrupt her.

"Her blood is purer than mine, she is his full sister."

Milliardo shook his head in bewilderment, and she could see the air of superiority he obviously felt over the beliefs of her people.

"I feel for you, Pharaoh, but I do not see what I can do for you. I fail to see an answer to your dilemma..."

He paused in midsentence, comprehension suddenly dawning at the smug catlike expression on her face.

"Surely your people will not accept..."

"You are a God, Caesar! You are the God out of the West!"

"And you believe that?"

Lucrezia gave a gasp of vexation, pitying his naivety.

"I dont _believe_ it Caesar, it is a fact!"

Milliardo stared at her in disbelief. "So this was your plan? You place a great deal of faith that I will provide you with an heir. And even if I do isnt it too late? It will be at least six nundinae before you know? Isnt the inundation due now?"

Lucrezia shrugged nonchalantly, her earlier agitation past now that Caesar showed signs of understanding.

"Amun-Ra will know. Just as I will know."

Milliardo studied her in silence for several moments, his expression thoughtful.

"Very well. But I will require a favor in return."

Lucrezia went still; appearing to withdraw into herself, before tentatively nodded her agreement.

"You will give complete cooperation in whatever I am called upon to do to Alexandria."

* * *

A slave tipped another scoop of cold water over the boiling rocks, sending clouds of hot vapor into the already misted steam room. Caesars General breathed in deeply, the mist raw and stifling in his lungs, and leaned back; closing his eyes. Although not oblivious to the other bathhouse patrons that came and went, Treize paid them no heed, for once his thoughts on something other than war strategy.

Une was up to something. Or someone else was and she had somehow got herself caught up in it. Either way he was intrigued Why she was so persistent about the inclusion on servants gossip in his correspondence with Caesar? He had never suspected any animosity towards the Lady Relena before on Unes part, so this new apparent scheme was out of the ordinary. Treize chuckled. Women. He made no attempt to understand them.

After months of campaigning, one of things Treize always anticipated upon return to Rome was the pleasure of the Bathhouses. Regrettably, the much anticipated moment of solitude was to be short lived, rudely interrupted by a low cough, drawing Treize back from his thoughts.

"General."

Sighing deeply, Treize cracked an eyelid and peered up. He had been aware of Barton and his followers surrounding him, even before the elder Senator had opened his mouth. He had noticed them huddled in the corner, plotting Gods only knew what, when he had come in. Obviously any hopes they would keep said plotting to themselves had been futile.

"Senator."

He masked his irritation as Senator Barton sat down beside him, realizing that there would be no quick exit.

"The Decree of Rome." Barton paused to glare accusingly at Treize. "Youve been keeping secrets from us."

Treize gazed back, unfazed.

"I'm as surprised as you."

In front of him, Senator Dermail gave a disbelieving snort.

"And we thought the two you were like brothers."

"Caesar has always kept his own counsel; that is news to no one. Now what do you want?"

Dermail and Barton exchanged a look, making it obvious to the General who the ring leaders were, as the rest of the troupe merely watched on.

"We wish to know your heart."

Barton nodded along with Dermail, before continuing for him. "For instance, General, should you find yourself inheriting the mantel of Caesar Could the Senate rely on your Friendship?"

Treize narrowed his eyes and glared guardedly at the other men.

"Caesar has said nothing of succession."

"You would be blind not to see that Caesar is forcing a confrontation," Barton snapped. "Apparently he has decided that the only way to maintain his grip on power is to rob us of ours. To destroy the Republic and anoint himself King."

Feeling his patience rapidly evaporating, Treize stood to leave; the older men instinctively stepping back to steer clear of the Generals imposing stature.

"He has refused the crown and I take him at his word."

Senator Bartons expression was unconvinced.

"Your tone, General, would suggest otherwise."

Treize looked down at Barton with a level glare.

"I stand with Caesar."

_

* * *

_

The atmosphere in camp that evening was triumphant as the legions celebrated their latest victory. Ale was raised with an affable joviality as battle wounds were compared and combat anecdotes traded.

_Another campaign was ended... Rome had claimed another territory for her mantle. _

_At one fire, however, the mood was tense; even somber. Given a respectful and perhaps grudgingly wide berth by the other soldiers, three brothers in arms sat in a contemplative quiet. They did not celebrate their victory, despite having fought valiantly and fiercely. They mentioned nothing of the previous battle as did they not speak of what was to come... and what wasn't. _

_It would be the last time the comrades would fight side by side. The end of this campaign also signaled the dividing of their paths._

_Trowa watched his companions silently. Across from him, Heeros profile was shrouded, unreadable. It was a blankness that Trowa had come to recognize over the years, the blank canvas that suppressed an unfathomable storm. He could not know what troubled his brother but he also knew that asking him would do little to make it known. Even the flickering light of the fire did nothing to betray his emotion. _

_Quatre, however... the man was an open book. His emotions played across his features with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He had always lacked the ability to hide anything from his friends... something that had never failed to vex him. He had also been watching Heeros still reflections, and his agitation had grown in stature with the passing hours, swelling like some incensed beast since Heero had made his... announcement._

_"Trowa... How can you not try and dissuade him from his present course? If anyone can convince him, it is you. How can you just stand back and...?"_

_Dissuade him? Somehow he suspected that he was past that now._

_There had been a change in Heero; a darkness that he tried to conceal from them. It had consumed him for weeks now. Normally taciturn at the best of times, he now appeared completely absorbed in his thoughts. Sent ahead to scout out the enemy, he had returned silent and withdrawn. When at last they faced their foe, he had entered the battle with a ferociousness and blood thirst that was fearsome. Used to Heeros usual single minded style of combat, this time Trowa observed a new anger; even... desperation._

_He fought like a man seeking... vengeance? What could have brought on this change?_

_And now this._

_"You speak as though I am already dead, Quatre."_

_"Not yet perhaps. But you take this... duty and you soon will be."_

_Heeros scowl was dark indeed, little liking his friends lack of faith in his competence. _

_"Allow me some credit, _friend_." _

_Quatre looked away, his jaw clenched against the words that Trowa knew the Soon to be Senate member was biting back. He could not help but reflect on the apparently opposing paths the two friends were about to take._

_Somehow, Trowa suspected that they both wished for the same outcome, even if their methods appeared contradictory..._

* * *

"Trowa...?"

Startled from his thoughts, Trowa turned his attention to the inquiring face of his Lady and berated himself for allowing his concentration to drift. He squared his shoulders and set his feet, bringing himself back to a rigid stance; inwardly criticizing his wavering from duty.

Perhaps he could blame the warm afternoon sun on his back. Or the expected tranquility of his post; what menace could be expected guarding the Lady Relena and her guests while relaxing as they were in the palace gardens? But he knew they were feeble excuses at best. The peacefulness of her company was making him careless.

He had been too long from the battle field.

"Forgive me, My Lady..."

"There is no need to apologize, Captain." Relena smiled softly, "I was simply curious of what deep reflections could give you such an expression of seriousness."

At this, Lady Relenas companion gave a good natured chuckle.

"Cousin, I was under the impression that he had no other expression but one of sternness and sobriety; he does take your wellbeing most sincerely after all. Do you mean to imply that you have seen his features betray something of the contrary?"

Trowa raised a cool eyebrow at the Senator. Quatre grinned at him over the top of his goblet of wine, resting back against the cushions of his chaise lounge with the elegance only born aristocracy could afford.

"Well Im sorry you see things so, as it simply reveals that you havent been paying attention. Relena protested with mock severity. Someone of your station should be far more observant, Senator. Trowa has a plentitude of guises; theyre simply more... understated than others."

Trowas stomach plunged and his mouth went dry as her eyes met his with the knowing glint of a secret shared. Unable to maintain her gaze, he bowed his head to her solemnly until she glanced away again.

Feeling distanced from their light hearted banter, Trowa brooded over the young woman in front of him, her attention now back on the blonde haired Senator. She reclined in easy repose, stretched out elegantly with the newly acquired awareness of her own femininity. Or perhaps it was merely his knowledge of her secret affair that bent him to see her in this new light...

Her fingers would sometimes brush thoughtfully across her throat or cheek, perhaps tracing a spot in remembrance of anothers touch, ghosting across her skin in imitation of her lovers fingers...

Trowa scowled, realizing he was grinding his teeth. Damn Heero.

She no longer unconsciously searched their surrounding area for his presence. And not surprisingly, he never appeared in her company. Had Trowa not known better, he would have thought the slave had lost the ladys favor. The concept was already widely speculated amongst the palace slaves.

But he knew better.

Heeros nocturnal wanderings had been so well accepted by the other slaves and guards after his addition to the slave quarters, no notice was taken when he disappeared from his mat every night. By morning he was always back and no one questioned it. It was even remarked by those that shared his sleeping space that they could get a full nights rest now. It seemed his first nights in the Palace had been disturbed by violent nightmares that could do little but disturb the slumber of those that slept near him.

Taking in the apparently well rested Lady before him, he wondered whether she had helped to cure him of those nightmares.

Trowa questioned how much longer it could last; for they could not possibly continue the pretense once her brother returned.

Caesar had been abroad for three nundinum now; a simple journey to inspect a province, now an active skirmish between Caesar and the Egyptian Pharaohs upstart younger brother.

"It is true then? That Milliardo contended with the Alexandrian King and his rioting mob?"

Quatre nodded. "Indeed it is. He won over the people with a promise to return their annexed Cyprus... the country has suffered for years from the loss of its cedar timber and copper mines... it was a most popular resolution for the public, and placed the Queen in a most advantageous light, since she was given full credit for making the treaty. Caesar also reminded them of their late Kings testament... decreeing that Egypt should be ruled by his eldest living daughter, Lucrezia and his eldest son, Ptolemy. It proved most... convincing.

Relena nodded slowly. "But obviously not convincing enough for Queen Lucrezias brother..?"

"Not at all. The stupid child has allowed himself to be lead astray by his self serving advisors and has fled the palace. The war is raging quite brutally it appears. The foundations of Alexandria have borne much damage and the necessary restoration of the city shall be extensive indeed, once Caesar has claimed victory. Which of course he will."

Relena smiled at this, a thin grimace in agreement to her cousins statement of the obvious. Sometimes it was all too easy to take the power of Romes armies for granted.

* * *

Milliardo glared at the offending piece of parchment, eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

It was a... miscalculation... on his part. He should have known better than to leave Relena back in Rome, unattended and without a chaperon. How could he have not seen it coming? He should never have let her make such a ridiculous purchase, should never have permitted her such indulgences.

To allow her to be defiled by such... he shook his head with disgust.

He needed to remove the slave before she began to have any more silly ideas. He knew the patterns of her nave heart. It would be best to break them apart now, before she became too infatuated. Nothing with his sister was ever frivolous. She would believe herself in love...

He frowned. It would not be enough to simply remove the slave...

Pagan appeared quickly at the summons of his Emperor; listening obediently to his instructions, before nodding solemnly, bowing deeply and making his way to the harbor.


End file.
